


Belly Cutter 腹切り (First Movement)

by PaxVobis



Series: Three Movements [1]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Australia, Bisexual Male Character, Blackmail, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Brother Feels, But Might Make People Who Are Squicked By That A Little Uncomfortable, Canon-Typical Violence, Chatlogs, Chatting & Messaging, Choking, Closeted Character, Come Swallowing, Computers, Concussions, Dark Comedy, Death Threats, Deepthroating, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, Drugged Sex, Dysfunctional Family, Emo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Experimentation, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Facials, Fear Play, Fights, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Flexibility, Florida, Gay Panic, Gossip, Gross Stuff With Cum, Groupies, Hair-pulling, Hand Guiding, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I'm like, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Douching, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internet, Kissing, Knives, Love Bites, Lube, M/M, Medication, Men Crying, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character(s), Minor Injuries, Naked Cuddling, Neck Kissing, No Incest, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nude Photos, Open Marriage, Panic Attacks, Photographs, Pickles/CFO Implied, Pickles/Nathan Heavily Implied, Pickles/Tony Implied, Porn Watching, Prison Sex, Prostate Massage, Pseudonyms, Repaying Debt, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Scars, Season/Series 03, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Spit As Lube, Temper Tantrums, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Thriller, Trans Male Character, Verbal Abuse, and then Lovers again, back to Enemies, lube as lube, nyeh, poppers, really a lot of kissing, sedatives, trans pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-03 05:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: Seth needs to obtain $4mill to repay Dethklok International for irresponsible business practices.  He's pretty sure Pickles can line his pockets again - he just needs leverage grave enough to convince him.  The answer lies in Pickles' distant past, but the thing about playing games is ensuring you're not being played yourself.In the final chapter, Seth learns his lesson.  For Brinepools.R18+ only, explicit sex and drug use.





	1. Deep Web

 

_Motome Chijiiwa was a man of some acquaintance to me._

**Harakiri, 1962**

_* * * * *_

 

Seth was in deep trouble.  Four million dollars of trouble.  Australian dollars, though, so – not that bad, right?

He’d been head of Dethklok Australia for a full six months and, in that short time, utterly driven it into the ground.  As much as anything Dethklok could be driven into the ground.  Seth preferred to think of it in a political way, you know, governmental – the organisation was heavily in debt, but like, debt was just potential, right?  Dethklok Australia was never _meant_ to be self-sufficient, it existed like an arm of Dethklok Inc and therefore, it was only right that Dethklok Inc should sustain it.  Financially.  Seth’s role was just to convince them that he was doing enough to keep that money coming, to, sure, ‘conceptually’ plunge them further into ‘debt’ but it was more like... an _exchange_ of _ideas_.  You know?  Potential.

So seeing that fuck-ass manager glaring at him through the jerking hologram with his voice distant and tinny through the speakers, _You are four **million** dollars in debt to Dethklok International, Seth, _ man, it was just _disappointing_.  Seth rolled his head up to look at the white ceiling.  How could someone so invested in Dethklok’s finances not understand this very simple concept?  His brother was a fucking idiot for hiring a guy so out of touch with contemporary business practices.   _Weak._ Weak and _gay._

“Uh, sorry man, you’re like, breaking up,” said Seth, dropping his head to look back at the camera’s grey eye opposite him, and Offdensen’s form lurched within the hologram.  “Huh, copper wiring, y’know, huh?  It’s fuckin’, bane of my fuckin’, life, man.  Y'know how long it takes to stream fuckin' tits here?  Fuckin’, nightmare, swear to god.”

_Seth.  This is serious, or I wouldn’t even be attempting to speak to you.  If you continue these irresponsible spending practices, we will be forced to defund Dethklok Australia to its bare minimum quotient.  That’s no funding for security, transport, ah, no bandwidth – Seth._

Seth rolled his eyes and leaned closer to the camera.  “Chief!  I told ya, you’re uh, I’m losin’ you there.  Didn’t catch a – a thing, pal, huh!”  He bobbed his head slightly, as if that might make it look more like the stream had been interrupted.  The manager’s brow furrowed ever so slightly in the hologram.  Man, did that guy pluck his eyebrows or what?  What a fucking homo.

_You haven’t even submitted accounting records for the last quarter.  We have **nothing** from you.  I can’t sign off on that kind of expenditure.  Do you – Seth._

“Huh?”  Seth curled his lip cockily at the hologram, his eyes half-shut by how ridiculously braindead this lecture had rendered him.  “Sorry.  I told ya.  Need to get some fuckin', fibre optics in here, huh?  You’d think Dethklok could afford that right - - ”

 _I’ve said my piece._   Offdensen’s hologram glared at him and then vanished as the manager disconnected, disappearing in a shaft of red light sucked into the holounit.   Seth stretched out a long leg from his chair to kick it, though with no real feeling. 

“Fuckin’, good riddance or shit, whatever,” he muttered into his chin, sunk down in his seat, his bony ass sliding on the ergonomic pleather.  Seth glared into the walls of the control room, all these screens and consoles, secure connections, drenched in the late afternoon Sydney sun as it seared through the windows above.  He let out a short huff of dissatisfaction, using his bare, hairy foot to hit a button and turn on the main monitor again, stretched out from where he lay in the seat of the office chair.

Sure, Dethklok wouldn’t _actually_ cut off his secure internet.  But.  But.  He had been tricked before.  As with his shitty little brother, you never really knew what Dethklok was going to do – pull out of a tour at the last minute, or punch you in the face on your wedding day.  When Seth’s internet went down mid-harassing some poor cam-dominatrix, he blamed Pickles specifically for pulling the plug, even though – realistically – if anyone was pulling the plug it was probably the fucking suit.  Man had _issues_.  Frigid.  Was that something a man could even be?  Perhaps he was just dead.  Having looked into his eyes, Seth couldn’t say that what he’d seen within had been _alive_ , exactly.

A fact: Pickles had blown the manager.  Seth was _certain_ of this.  Fucking, homo band, fucking, weird as fuck dynamic going on there.  That was the only explanation as to why Offdensen funded his brother’s exploits and not his own to Seth.  It wasn’t like they weren’t, like, similarly ranked otherwise – without Pickles, Dethklok would fall apart, and without Seth, Dethklok _Australia_ would fall apart.  Equals, see.  He pulled himself up in his chair with a nasal grunt and clutched the edge of the desk to drag himself to the controls, pouting at the cam site he’d had up before the CFO had disturbed his Sunday afternoon.  You’d have to be frigid not to appreciate pissteens.ru, fucking fact.  Some of these girls were just, fucking, revelations.  _Gifts_ to humanity, and kind enough to share, like, for a price.  It wasn't as though Seth had spent  _all_ the four million on camgirls, and it wasn't the only thing that'd go if they cutoff his high speed bandwidth.  But like... a considerable amount, sure, and sorely missed.

Seth regarded the little boxes on the screen promising so much and decided it was definitely the manager and not Pickles who was cutting him off, since – much as he was _loathe_ to think about his brother’s sex life – at least he knew Pickles was a firm appreciator of big tits and would _understand_.  His eyebrows jacked up as a thought occurred, however – perhaps that was... _why._   Pickles knew this was Seth’s only escape from the trials of holy matrimony.  Wanted him to suffer.  _Talked_ the ambivalent, definitely gay manager into cutting him short, cutting off his money.  That made _perfect_ sense, too much sense!  It had to be so.

If Pickles was going to terrorise him, then Seth was going to make him pay for trying to undercut him.  Literally.  Four million Australian dollars.  He could pay back Dethklok Inc, Pickles would be humiliated, crisis averted.  The problem was... you know... getting Pickles to cough up.  Seth had borrowed two thousand (US, this time) just the last time he’d been in New York for that conference, hadn’t _thought_ about what he was doing and called his brother as if it was programmed into his muscle memory.  Pickles had caved for half the amount Seth had asked about, but only after Seth threatened to put childhood pictures up on the Dethklok fan forums. 

That was only for two thousand.  That was what those photos were worth.  Pictures of Pickles standing by that lake in Canada with a shitty little curl of disgust on his fat little baby face, mud up the front of his shirt and over his hands where Seth had pushed him into the shallows.  Seth thought the pictures were cute!  I mean, who didn’t want to connect with their idols on a more personal level, y’know, see ‘em as like, humans and all, Pickles, yeah?  That attitude was genuine, but Seth’s tone had betrayed the malevolence of the threat.  He _knew_ it was a threat, had reached for easy ammunition and his fingers had alighted on a little superficial blackmail.  He hadn’t thought it through, and the next thing he knew he had two thousand dollary-doos on his company card.

It gave one ideas.

Now what was worth _four million dollars_ to Pickles the drummer?  Seth leaned over his keyboard as he opened a new, incognito browser window, his button nose inches from the screen.  He thought he had a hunch.  It had to be out there, right?

By the time he found what he wanted, the sun was setting over the beautiful white city beyond, the office drenched in scarlet as Seth shovelled the meal the klokateers had brought him messily into his mouth, his eyes glued on the screen.  Groupies, they couldn’t control themselves.  Women were like that, right, they just talked _compulsively_ , it wasn’t like he could separate Amber from her phone at any point and, like, why would the sluts that Dethklok knocked around with be any different? 

He’d started with the tabloids, then found a list of celebrity dick lengths which Pickles was listed on – dismissively, thank fuck, since Seth had _nil_ desire to find out what Pickles had ended up with after all the hullabaloo.  The girls simply listed an anecdote about him making that hot bitch Evelyn, his ex, use a kitty litter tray at an orgy and advice to never bring your pussy near someone who was gonna treat it like a cat, which Seth had to admit was _fucked up_ even by Pickles standards. 

But the listing indicated a certain degree of intimacy, and he’d contacted the webmaster, an old-guard groupie the likes of whom had knocked around with Deep Purple and Led Zep back in the day.  Actually, it was impressive how internet savvy these girls were.  The woman had responded quickly to his email, laughing at his story – an _elaborate_ tale Seth had made up about being a freelance music journalist performing research for a book on the sex lives of metal – and advised him it was okay to be gay, you know, since that was obviously the only reason he wanted to hook in with Dethklok, but sure, she’d help him.  It was all behind her now.  She turned him on to a secret forum that she still moderated, gave him the password for their locked section, but only as a reader, not a poster.  Said she’d come to hate those girls through forum in-fighting.  Stuffing the sausage roll into his mouth and dropping pastry flakes over the keyboard, Seth couldn’t believe his luck.  All that was left was to _dig._

Sun down.  The forum had posts going back to 2001, _beyond_.  Seth suckled on a protein shake and scrolled through page upon page upon page of rumours and first person accounts of chicks fucking his brother.  Scrolling was the correct word too, he couldn’t bear to actually read any in depth, having felt the sausage roll try to crawl back out his throat when he accidentally let his brain comprehend those words.  Conclusion of what he’d skimmed:  Pickles was _messed up_.  Celebrity messed you up.  Gender shit _messed you up_.  But so far he’d only found pictures of girls, and the vaguest implication that Pickles might be in the scene; the most he’d gotten hold of was a lightly-freckled hand which was definitely Pickles’, Seth knew that for sure, and though he’d saved it to his hard drive, _photo evidence_ _Pickles likes tits_ was barely going to make the headlines.

There had to be something.  Hard evidence of all this _bullshit_ the girls were saying.  Pickles was elusive, camera-shy; Seth had a vague recollection of the guy saying he hated photos, something something ugly something something souls.  Really weird, like, huh, scientology or something, Seth didn’t know.  Celebrities, out of touch with god damn _reality_.  Their mom was right about that.  Keep searching.  There had to be _something_  in this trash.

At three in the morning, the big moon high in the windows above, Seth found it.  A post from fucking October 2000; he’d only found it by following remarks by other posters, mentioning the username in discussions about Pickles’ closeness to their CFO, his closeness to Nathan, how much Nathan looked like that tubby cunt from his old band.  Specialised search engines, caches, careful strings of syntax later, and Seth had found it.  October 31, 2000.  A post from a dead account.

> **mjolnir_** _(Unregistered user) wrote:_
> 
> _m/28/FL here, can confirm op. p. known bi in scene, know personally he’s involved with n. not the first time with band, DM for pics. not a joke. happy halloween girls._

Motherfucking _Yahtzee,_ dickweeds.

But this “Mjolnir_” had no information – a dead, unregistered account, no contact, nothing.  A cursory search for “mjolnir + dethklok” yielded too many results to Dethklok promotional sites, their SEO being just _too good_ , that Seth quickly gave up.  It was getting late.  He had to be more direct.

Seth thought backwards as he guided the end of his straw around the shake cup, sucking up the dregs noisily.  Couldn’t contact Mjolnir, so the next step up was to contact the people who knew him.  Seth hunted the username over the forum, finding dead account after dead account, until finally he found one that was active.  Chey_xoxoxo.  That was a slut’s username if Seth ever saw one, _and_ she had her email listed.

Seth got cleverer this time.  Ran a reverse search.  Found her photos, _damn_.  A hottie with long dark hair, seemed like she’d worked her way through various metal scenes at different times, spent some time living in Sweden.  It occurred to him that he’d been so involved in blackmailing Pickles he hadn’t jerked off in hours.  Looking at Chey’s pictures, he considered it.  He was gonna use this IRC address he’d found first, though.  Might even get her to chat back, that way.

Chey was online.  His luck continued to blossom.  That filthy smirk crawled onto Seth’s face, dislodging flakes of pastry from his goatee.  He messaged her, asked her if she was still into Dethklok.  Fed her that same story about freelance journalism, and she messaged straight back:

> **cheyxo:  mm that’s funny coz yr isp sez yr on dethkloks servers. just sayin.**

... fuck.

Seth’s lip quivered, seeing the end near.  He’d been an idiot.  He’d been _such_ an idiot.  The groupies were onto him.  They’d been onto him this whole time.

> **cheyxo: haha. its ok boy.  u up to sumth......?**
> 
> **cheyxo: u still there?**
> 
> **cheyxo: listen. u dont have to tell me boy.  u want to get in touch w/ mjolnir? i can sort u out.**
> 
> **cheyxo: i mean, hes around, just more... private. been a tough coupla years u know.**
> 
> **cheyxo: but i can sort u out.  if u sort me out.  u know?**

Seth craned close to the screen.  Did he, now?

> **hundiesdownundies:** yeh babe wateva u want
> 
> **cheyxo:** **thats what a girl likes 2 hear. i want backstage in oslo, think u can do that?**

Seth let out a little _pfft!_ of amusement.  Shit, girls were _easy!_   He’d have to capitalise off these sluts himself once all this was over.

> **hundiesdownundies:** to easy babe. send thru ur details, ill hook u up
> 
> **cheyxo:** **sweet. i;ll send thru his details... he wont mind...**
> 
> **hundiesdownundies:**   deal. ill put it thru soon as he replies
> 
> **cheyxo: ... fuck. fine. whatever.  if u dont ill just spread word yr a lying fuck ; ***

But Seth had every intention of keeping his word, for once in his sordid little life.  Sure enough, the girl sent through an email address – prefacing that Mjolnir had not been active on IRC or the forums in many years, and to expect little.  She herself had never seen the photos he sought, and she knew of only one person who had, a woman, Delia, who had been seeing Mjolnir for a time.  Chey believed they existed; the detail with which Delia had spoken of them and comments Mjolnir made over involved chats lost to the annals of time were enough to convince her of it.

That should be enough for Devin – the name of the journalist he’d created for himself to hide behind - but Seth knew he’d need solid, physical evidence if he was going to get the money out of Pickles.  Something he could shove in his face and lord over him.  _You’re a fag, I know you’re a fag, and the whole world will too if it ain’t in my account by morning...._ in Seth’s fantasies, he was more articulate than in reality, and better dressed, and, uh, taller, but that was beyond the point.  He’d have to play it safe with this Mjolnir guy, probably keep the fag stuff to the minimum if he claimed intimate knowledge of a scene that recognised and sponsored Pickles’ flirtations with the other side. 

Should be easy.  Turn on the charm.  Seth was good at that, pretty much all he was good at, and at 5 AM, he hit send on an email sopping with the stuff before dragging his abused, sleepless body onto the bed beside Amber.  Just face down drooling, still in his sweaty shorts and singlet.  Not as if he was gonna get _dressed_ for work.  Not as if he’d known the CFO was gonna call.  Working from home was bliss, the Australian summer _less so_.

He slept poorly.  Had a dream where he had to show his mom pictures of Pickles sucking off a dude, and she kicked the guy out of the family, _again_ – Seth woke up in a sweat to the dawn light through their large bedroom windows,  Amber still unconscious beside him, and twitched a bit as he considered what he was going to do.  Pulled out his dethfone to flick through snapchat stories, his tired eyes barely taking in the laughing and poor quality dance music recorded onto his friends’ nights out.

Lying there in the dim summer dawn, the phone’s light on his face, Seth felt it vibrate in his hands – the signal of an incoming email.  His heart held still in his chest.  Was he nervous?  Was he excited?  Hard to tell the difference, and he navigated to view it.

> **M.** to _me, Today, 5:50 AM_
> 
> Hello Devin,
> 
> Thanks for your email.  I got to admit I was surprised by it.  When was I last active on Metalsludge, like, nearly a decade ago?  Jesus Pisschrist.  The whole place was a cesspool, if memory serves.  I don’t know what Cheyenne might have told you; to be honest, I haven’t spoken to her in nearly three years.
> 
> Your project interests me.  I don’t believe it’s been explored re: the scene ‘that band’ sprung from.  It’s not something that’s talked about... like, even now, and I haven’t spoken about it in the past beyond Metalsludge.  Off the back of that, though, I hope you’ll understand that I would like to preserve a certain amount of anonymity in my involvement. 
> 
> Here’s what I am prepared to tell you:
> 
>   * I am a musician. 
>   * I am located in Florida. (UTC-05:00)
>   * I am no longer involved in the metal scene.
>   * I am not out, and would like to keep it that way.
> 

> 
> If you would like to talk further on those terms, you can find this address on Skope and we’ll take it from there.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> M.

Curled up in bed, Seth’s eyes burned with vicious delight. 

_It was fucking happening._


	2. World Of Dogs

The following day was an anxious one, and Seth spent it pacing around their Dethtower living room in slippers and shorts and hunched on the couch flicking through social media.  He’d added this mysterious Mjolnir on Skope almost immediately (and Seth passed on the Oslo ticket details to Chey), but the guy didn’t accept his request until mid-morning when Seth had been trying to ignore Amber across the kitchen table and holding his phone to block her face from his vision – not that she was doing anything different to him.  Mjolnir had then promptly disappeared from the internet altogether.  Seth was kept on edge, checking the application every few minutes, keeping it up in the background as he worked through his favourite camgirl sites with every other conversation muted, but not a beep, not a single notification, as he went about his day and eventually settled, hopes dashed, in front of the television for another mind-numbing evening of domestic bliss.

Amber was out.  She was always fucking out.  Where the heck she’d found friends in Sydney was beyond him, especially when he had so much trouble finding anyone who wasn’t trying to lick his ass.  Not that Seth was strictly adverse to that, y’know, it was just a _pain_ when all you wanted was to sink some bevvies and some brownnoser wanted to get _right up there_ , talking about work and shit.  And Dethklok.  Honestly, he was getting tired of hearing the name.

He was set up on the couch with the phone face down beside him, a bottle of VB and some barbecue flavour crisps on the go, shorts and singlet, and the match on the big screen – he was battling hard to like AFL, and was slowly, _slowly_ coming to understand the game which seemed to permeate every aspect of Australian life – and was revelling in his loneliness and the men in tiny, tiny shorts ( _gaaaay_ ) in high definition onscreen when his phone gave a muted buzz.  Seth jumped in alarm, the bowl of crisps springing up from his gut and spilling across his lap, and he swore colourfully as they crushed under his palms as he scrambled to jointly unlock the phone and shovel them back into the bowl.

He’d gotten all but the smallest, sharpest shards of barbecue flavoured potato, stabbing into his scrawny thighs and crushed into the couch cushions, off his lap by the time he’d logged the fuck back in, licking his fingers as he scanned the screen for Mjolnir’s message.

*** **mjolnir** has shared contact details with **theguru**. ***

> **Sorry about the wait, pal.  I work odd hours.**

Seth could have squeaked in delight.  It was happening, it was _really happening_.  Four million greenbacks within his reach.  Or, well... green and gold backs, anyway.

Now, the trick was to play it smooth.  He had to get those photos, had to convince this fag he was the kind of person he wanted to trust with that shit.  Seth tried to have empathy ( _geeeyyyyy_ ) for the guy.  If _he_ had naked photos of some – let’s say, for the sake of argument, some famous chick with another chick?  Well, Seth would just show them, cuz, hey, that shit was hot!  But it was different if it was a dude.  It was.  His brow creased as he tried to work out an equivalent.  If he had naked photos of himself, he’d have to want to fuck someone to show them.  Seth was a beautiful man but he wasn’t all that _impressive_ , you know, in the girth department.  It’d have to be a sure thing.

He’d have to convince Mjolnir that he was in it for the D.

Okay, huh, _gay_ , but easy enough.  Seth could turn on the charm when it was required.  Again, he was a beautiful man.  A _twunk_ as they said in Mardi Gras circles; as a straight man he was allowed to take pride in that.  Seth could understand a man being attracted to him, y’know.  It went without saying.  He bet, if he wanted to, he could seduce Offdensen – _that_ was a sure thing.  Now he didn’t know shit about Mjolnir, except that he was a gay-ass metalhead, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be easy to seduce.  Seth just had to be three things:

  1. The kind of man a man would want to fuck, and Seth was a man, so he already knew that. The kind of man that Seth could imagine wanting to fuck.  Someone _impressive_.  That was practically already done, as above.
  2. The kind of man a metalhead would want to fuck, and he knew Dethklok so. Surely that was it, right?  They were all gay for Dethklok, and –
  3. The kind of man that was such a _sure thing_ as to scan some old dirty photos for. The kind of man you wanted to impress, by showing that you had pictures of Dethklok mackin’ on each other.  The kind of sure thing that needed convincing.



He had this.  Easy peasy, lemon fuckin’ squeezy, baby.

> hey man thanks for getting back to me.  its really cool to get in touch with someone who was like in the scene bro.  hours r cool 2 im in australia so its like night here lol.  u at home now tho?

There was a long pause, Seth crunching chips, before Mjolnir replied.

> **Okay, sure.  Yeah, I have a few hours before I gotta sleep.  We can cover the basics.**
> 
> o sweet wat time is it there??

Another long pause.  Seth’s attention flicked up to the television, trying to work out what the score meant, which team was which. 

> **It’s 4:30 am.**
> 
> daaaaaaaaaaaang thats late

Pause.

> **Yeah, it is.**

Pause.  Seth wondered what the guy worked for, and was about to ask when he interrupted him.

> **You know, you don’t come across like a journalist.  Just saying.**

Seth frowned at the phone.  He couldn’t be onto him, could he?  Seth had been professional thus far, he hadn’t dropped a single f-bomb.  Hell, it was his _job_ to be professional.  Mjolnir was just being paranoid.

> yo its a freelance thing. its like. casual .

His finger quivering over the fffffffff every second word.  _Fuckin_ casule... casual.  Thank god for autocorrect.

> **I see.  
>  Someone’s supposed to be publishing this, right?  Who are you selling to?**

Seth pouted his lips as he thought, listening to the game blaring on the television, announcers screaming wild as some dude in yellow and brown tiny shorts kicked the football through the posts.  What kind of magazine would publish something as gay as this?  But not too high profile.  Erm...

> the advocate man
> 
> **Oh.  That’s good, for you.  
>  I didn’t know they covered metal but I guess everyone does in this day and age.**
> 
> lol man sounds liek u dont like metal?
> 
> **More complicated than that.**  
>  **Say:**  
>  **I got so metal I came out the other side.**

What the heck did that mean.  Seth was not metal at all.  Could you over-metal yourself?  Pickles was certainly trying –

Mjolnir sent a face. 

> **:^)**

He was trying to be friendly, thought Seth.  A good start.  He replied:

> lol :)
> 
> **Yeah.  If you must.**
> 
> jeez louize!

It was taking every fiber of Seth’s being not to swear at him.

> im just tryin 2 b friendly dude!!!  :(

There was a long pause on Mjolnir’s side this time, Seth zoning out at the TV in the wait.  In the corner of the big screen, he could see his phone trying to connect to the TV’s wifi.  Why did their TV even have wifi?  Oh, yeah – cos he’d wanted it, cos Dethklok had given him it.  Fuckin sick, TV with wifi, holograms, webcam.  Amber wasn’t home.  He could put the girls up on it!

The app bleeped softly at him.

> **Does it cause you actual pain to type like that, Chuck?**

... Chuck?  Who the fuck...

> who d fuk is chuk???
> 
> **Very funny.  You can drop the act.  Even if you’re not Chuck, we both know he’s watching.**
> 
> im fukkin serius who d fuk is chuk?? who do u think i m?>?

The three dots that signalled Mjolnir typing rippled at the bottom of the screen.  Typing.  He was typing.  Seth glared at the screen.  It beat him who the fuck Mjolnir was going on about.  He didn’t know anyone called Chuck, didn’t know anyone associated with Dethklok called Chuck – which he assumed this was all about, you know, something with the _organisation._   So add qualifier (4) – to get Mjolnir to send him the photos, he’d have to convince him that he wasn’t from Dethklok.  The first thing that wasn’t true.  Wait.  No.  Seth also wasn’t gay.  Two things that weren’t true.

And he didn’t really like metal either.

Three things.

> u just fukkin paranoid dude

Mjolnir’s dots disappeared, then returned almost immediately.

> **You’re not wrong.**

“Heh,” said Seth to himself, smirking at the little screen.  On the TV, another man kicked a goal, and the red and white team rejoiced.

> :)

He sent the face for good measure.  To show it was in good humour.  Mjolnir did not take it that way.

> **Alright.  We’re gonna play games, are we?**

Seth furrowed his brow.  He could still save this.

> lol u liek games?? ;)
> 
> **Oh,** **BB.  
>  I can’t believe someone is paying you for this.**
> 
> 20 qs???
> 
> **Seriously?  Aren’t you supposed to be interviewing me?**
> 
> ye... they qs.
> 
> **O.K.  20 questions, 10 each.  Number 1.  Shoot.**

Seth thought hard about what he would ask.  He could play twenty questions with girls any day, but with a dude it was more difficult.  Of course, question number twenty should be, _do you have any pictures of Dethklok fucking each other_ but.  That left the question of number one. 

> ummmm wat u doin rite now??

Mjolnir’s response was almost immediate.  Guy must have had one hell of a typing speed.

> **That’s not an interview question.  I’m talking to some fuckwit goon in my sweats after working for nine hours in a fucking slaughterhouse.  
>  My turn, DEVIN.  #1. Are you alone?**

Seth stared at his phone, and then looked around his lounge room with a jolt of paranoia.  He was pretty sure he was alone.  Pretty sure.  Yep.

> ye??
> 
> **Good.  #2?**

Ominous.  Seth pulled his legs up into the couch, plucking more chips from the bowl to feed himself as his thumb raced over the keypad.

> u gay?
> 
> **No.**  
> 
> u str8 then????
> 
> **Bi.**
> 
> lol but u gotta real b gay or str8 rite
> 
> **That was #4.  No.**
> 
> but u gotta b?
> 
> **I mostly fuck girls, if it makes you happy.**

That wasn’t the answer Seth was looking for.  He didn’t know how to proceed if Mjolnir was actually straight.  Maybe he could send through some of his own wank bank?

> **My turn.  
>  #2. What made you want to write this article?**

Seth pouted.  Fuckin’ hard question.  No fun at all!

> idk just thinkin
> 
> **Mm, don’t you just hate it when that happens?**
> 
> lol
> 
> **#3. Ever wanted to fuck your boss?**

Seth snorted to himself.

> lol wtf.  neway thats 4.
> 
> **Sure, but that’s not an answer.**
> 
> no
> 
> **Aw.  The old fag will be broken hearted to read that.**

Seth lowered the phone slightly, curling his lip as he checked what was going on on the TV and wondered what the hell that had to do with anything.

> lol, i dont hav a boss!! i m d boss!! haha
> 
> **Come on now.  Give him one for the road.  Repeat after me: “I love you, Chuck.”**
> 
> lol, tf.
> 
> **Go on.**
> 
> ok but counts as q.
> 
> **O.K., deal.**
> 
> i luv u chuk.
> 
> **“How does it feel to know your every act, from the cold shower you take each morning to the very last wack as you jerk yourself to sleep, is someone else’s property?  You sad, terrible little man.”**
> 
> lol im not typin all that
> 
> **Didn’t expect you to.  Where were we?  Number 6, Devin?**

Seth stretched out on the couch, scratching his balls thoughtfully through his shorts as he considered his next move.

> u fuckin weird
> 
> **You have no idea.**
> 
> 6 wats ur real name
> 
> **Pass.  I’ll give up a question.  Ask something else.**
> 
> lol gay.  ummm where r u rite now
> 
> **In my HOME.  In FLORIDA.  You’re in Australia.**
> 
> ?????? how u kno???
> 
> **You told me, moron.  Number 8.**
> 
> fuk ok.  8 r u alone???
> 
> **Why do you want to know?**
> 
> cuz????
> 
> **I just don’t think it’s very funny.  You know where I live.**
> 
> FL????????????
> 
> **#8. How far back in my head can my eyes roll before I give myself concussion?**
> 
> ?????????????
> 
> **Number 9, Devy?**

Seth thought hard.  This wasn’t going well, and he knew Mjolnir would soon give up talking to him.  He had to bring out the big guns, and his tongue poked out of his mouth as he typed.

> 9 how big is ur dick
> 
> **For real?**
> 
> rilly rilly.....

He considered blocking out the inevitable response.  _Gayyyyy._   But he wasn’t anywhere near fast enough.

> **7x5, jackass.**

Inches?  Right?  That was?  Average right?  Seth wasn’t gay.  He had no idea how big other people’s dicks were. 

> lol
> 
> **Oh please. %^(**  
>  **I can’t believe you asked me that.**  
>  **Looking forward to seeing it in the Advocate.**
> 
> ur turn
> 
> **9... you know what. Same question. ;^J**
> 
> um ew lol  
>  u sed u aint gay
> 
> **Oh, go on.  He knows you’re just doing your job.**
> 
> u rilly hung up on that huh. idk lol like a popsickle??? kinda size
> 
> **Uh huh.  #10?**

Moment of truth.  He couldn’t back out now.  His heart was in his throat.

> do u rilly have pics of pickles?

Seth sat with his eyes glued to the screen as Mjolnir’s ellipsis rippled placidly.  He didn’t really want to know, had flashes of his mother’s horror, the world’s horror, if he was forced to leak it.  Western civilization as he knew it dissolving as they realised their favourite band was gay.  But then again, he really needed that cool four million.

> **Yes.  We used to be friends.  
>  Well.  “Friends.”**

Fuck, thought Seth, his face muscles twitching as they tried to tear between a smirk and a grimace.  But Mjolnir wasn’t finished.

> **Is that what this is about?  
>  Chuck, you can’t have everything.  Some of us want to keep our memories...**
> 
> u startin 2 creep me out w/ this chuk stuff. 

But he wasn’t going to give up.  Not without his money.

> ur 10??
> 
> **Not a question... is that okay?**
> 
> ??????
> 
> **I want to see you.**

Lying sprawled on the couch, his fingers touching the greasy bottom of the chip bowl, Seth stared at the phone screen.  Huh, fuckin’... paranoid.  Fuckin’...

He took too long.

> **Turn on your camera.  I want to see you.**

What the hell was this weird feeling, like he was being stared at?  Seth gulped it back, feeling blindly for the remote to enable the connection to his phone.  Mjolnir was still typing as he fiddled with the controls, flickering bars and DO YOU WANT TO CONNECT? blaring in bright primary colors on the screen.

> **I’ll count to three, and then I’m blocking you.  
>  ** **3.  
>  ** **2.**

God fucking damn!  Fucking, damn!  Damn damn—got it!

> **1...**

Seth’s eyes rounded wide at the screen as it turned dark, showing the camera on the other side of the world – blacked out, covered by something – and a husky, smoker’s laugh boiled up around him from the surround sound system, delayed somewhere by the connection so that it echoed, seemed to float to the surface like a ghost.

 _Oh, man... who are **you?**_ jeered the voice, and Seth stared up at the tiny camera eye on top of the screen, curled as he was on the couch with phone in one hand, remote in the other, his shorts riding up his thighs.  On the screen in front of him and on the phone screen, the dark lifted slightly, someone removing their hand – but the vision was no better, just a dim blue on black that Seth gradually realised was a laptop screen illuminating a bare chest, cut off at the waist into black again, and at the top where the camera was angled to hide the man’s face.

“I’m - - ” snapped Seth, ready to put the record straight, but he bit back his words quickly.  “—fuckin’... Devin.  For the Advocate.  Huh.  Fuckin’, who the fuck are you s'pose ta be??”

The voice chuckled low around him, bubbling up thick like magma.

_I am the ghost of Dethklok past._

Seth felt a weird tingle at the words, cracking and distorted by the low quality mics on the other side, and willed it away.  He couldn’t be _afraid_ , not of this – of _nothing._   He’d survived fuckin’ jail, he wasn’t going to be afraid of a motherfuckin’ gay on the internet.  There was movement on the screen, a black dart at the top that Seth judged to be a beard, perhaps, as Mjolnir stroked it with a long hand, the detail lost in the poor quality of the video feed.  Fuckin’ copper wire...

“Well, huh.”  Seth indicated to himself, sprawled out, watching the video feed jerk with dropped frames.  “So you got your fuckin’... proof, bro.  I’m for fuckin’ real.  Devin Townsend, for the Advocate, huh.”

 _Ha, yeah.  I see.  Yeah.  I see._ Seth caught the slightest hint of a smile at the top of the screen, Mjolnir hunched over it by the shape of his body – curved away from the screen, and now that Seth was looking, he could see the man was sat cross-legged, either on the floor or – or probably on his bed, thought Seth, the band of his sweatpants low on his hips and the laptop on the mattress in front of him.  _Man... can’t believe it, buddy.  I was so sure you were Chuck._

“I don’t even know who the fuck Chuck fuckin’, _is_ ,” blurted Seth, glaring up at the screen, “Would be.  Huh, I don’t know any fuckin’, Chuck.  Dude.  Muh...”  His mouth formed clumsily around it, having not thought how one would say it until he needed to.  “Muh-jol-nair.”

 _It’s Mjölnir.  Myul-nir,_ came the patient voice, and Seth curled his lip as he watched long fingers twist the beard to a point.

“Me-yil-near.”

 _Yeah, close enough.  You know what that is?_   Seth shrugged, looking down at his feet.  _It’s old Norse.  Name of Thor's Hammer.  It means, ‘Crusher’._

Seth’s eyes darted up.  “Huh, fuckin’ co-incidence, huh,” he said with a cheeky smirk, and Mjolnir shifted slightly in the blue light.

_Huh?_

“That’s what I call my dick, too.  T'or's hammer.  Heh.  Crusher!”  To Seth’s surprise, that got a laugh from the guy, a deep-chested chuckle that filled the room around him like a dark smog.  If it weren’t for Seth’s pride, the sound of it would have made his smile strain – but instead, he just beamed.

_Cute._

“Oh, you fuckin’ think I’m fuckin’ cute now??  Huh?  Fuck.  Fuckin’, gaylord.”  It felt fake to say, but Seth was no stranger to fakeness, stretching out his skinny body between the couch and the coffee table and brushing back his hair with his hands, and he caught that flash of crooked smile again, floating above a streak of white reflected in the pointed beard.  How old was this dude?  Like... at least as old as his brother, right?  Mjolnir just chuckled at him, watching him from the camera above.

_You are alone, ain’t ya, Devy?  Yeah... what time is it there?_

“Fuck, it’s like...” Seth consulted his phone briefly, seeing and ignoring a message from Amber at the top of the screen as he put it down and propped his arms up behind his head lazily.  “Seven.”

_PM?_

“Yeah.”

 _Crazy._ Mjolnir twined his goatee around his long fingers, catching the seizing image of his large lips, smirking, in the briefest frames before they were pulled away again.  He froze, touching his fingers to his gaunt neck, and then dropped them smoothly to his lap, chuckling seemingly at nothing again.  _Crazy.  Yeah.  I’m alone too... just sayin’, Devy._

Seth eyeballed the screen cautiously.  What was that, an LA accent?  He gave a quiet cough against his nerves, looking down his body at his feet stretched against the edge of the coffee table awkwardly.  “Erm...” he said, his eyes darting as he looked anywhere but the screen, “So, those pictures... I’m just, heh, I just like.  I need some fuckin’ proof, man.  For the Avvy.”

Mjolnir leaned away, the camera now fully catching his chin and white-darted goatee as he lolled back, his scrawny body lit dim in the laptop light.  In snatched glances, Seth could see heavy dark curls draped over his gaunt shoulders.  Typical metalhead.

 _Devy... look.  It ain’t you, buddy.  I’m just not a big fan of sendin’ things online, you feel me?  I got reason to believe I’m bein’ watched,_ Mjolnir explained wearily, and Seth gave a quiet snort.

“You been googling fuckin’ doggy porn or somethin’ bro - - ” he started, but the other man cut him off with more laughter.

_You fuckin’ **wish** it were that pleasant._

“So, whatever?  I got a fuckin’, secure connection.  Paid for by – by the Advocate.”  Seth tried to give his sweetest look up at the older man – he was older, he had to be older – but Mjolnir wasn’t buying it.

_I thought you said you were freelance._

“Yeah, whatever.  Fuck.  Y’know?  Y’know what I fuckin’ mean.  Huh.”

 _Hmm._   Mjolnir let his arm drape across his lap, thoughtful as he watched the screen on his end, his face hidden save for his slight smirk.   _Besides, as much as I’d love to ruin that cunt’s life, if I **send** them to you, you might publish them and, well.  There are already eyes on me.  I don’t need guillotines to join ‘em._

A brief, hopeful pause, Seth shooting his biggest puppy eyes up at the screen, and then Mjolnir gave a shrug, his skinny shoulders like a fucking clothes hanger.  _Sorry.  I ain’t sendin’ nothin’, so you can ditch that idea, honey._

“Honey.  Huh.”  Seth looked at his feet, then smiled sweetly up at Mjolnir.  “You fuckin’ flirtin’ with me, fag?”

Mjolnir didn’t move.  _Thought that was what we’re doin’, Devy?_ he purred and crassly groped his crotch through his sweatpants on the screen, showing off, and Seth felt that chill again, racing up the back of his thighs, curling his toes.  Seven by five... fuck.  No.  His mind wasn’t going there, not tonight.

“Ahh... nah, like, you got the wrong... wrong fuckin’ idea.  Huh.  I’m not gay, y’know, like fuckin’... I got a fuckin’ wife and kid.  It’s just the - the fuckin’, pink fuckin’ dollar, right,” he sneered petulantly up at Mjolnir.  “I  just gotta know you’re for fuckin’ real, you know, man?”  And the guy just smiled down at him, his face split by the white of his grin as he showed his teeth.

_Ah, don’t stress, Devy.  It’s okay to write for the Advocate._

“Fuckin’... whatever.”  Seth gave a huff, and nudged his beer bottle with his toe across the coffee table top self-consciously.  “If you won’t send ‘em through, then...”  His mind raced.  What would businessman Seth do?  What would the guru do?  What would _Dethklok_ do? 

Seth sat up abruptly, looking at the screen.  “Then I’ll come there, right?  We’ll do a fuckin’... one-on-one interview, fuck.  It’ll be fuckin’ great, fuck.  Have a coupla beers... then you can show me the stuff and I’ll, fuck, I’ll know you’re for real and, huh, you ain’t at any risk, yeah?”

Mjolnir was quiet, his face watchful again – that which Seth could see of it, anyway.  _The Advocate is going to pay for this?_ he asked, and Seth nodded eagerly.

“Yeah!  Story of the fuckin’ century dude, fuck, huh, fuckin’... world’s gonna lose it’s _fuckin’_ mind.”  He rolled his eyes with glee, smirking as he thought of Offdensen footing the bill.  A ‘business trip’.  The old fuck wouldn’t even notice.

 _Ha, sure.  Whatever you say.  I’ll believe that when I see it, buddy - -_ and Seth was about to sit up and challenge him about it, clear a space in his calendar, when the living room door opened and both men jumped in shock.  Amber, standing there with the kid in one arm and her phone in the other, and two of her bitchy female friends in the door behind her.  Staring at Seth over the top of the phone.

“Hhh _honey_!  You’re home!” screeched Seth, and he saw the screen lurch as Mjolnir shut his laptop abruptly – but not before Seth managed to hit “Capture Screen” on his phone.  “And you brought friends!  Wow!  Fuckin’... hi ladies.”

Amber glared at him as the girls showed themselves in, one of them brandishing a bottle of wine, and then she looked aggressively at the blank screen on the TV.

“Me?”  Seth grinned inanely at her, “I was just, watchin’... watchin’ the fuckin’ game.  And, uh...”  He looked at the empty chat symbol on the screen, dropping his shoulders dejectedly.  “Jackin’ off with dudes on the internet I s’pose.  Fuckin.”

Amber stared at him a beat, then rolled her eyes and gestured that he should clear up his shit and get out of their girls night in.  Defeated, Seth snapped  a little as he picked up his phone and beer, and “Fuckin’, goodnight, then!  Sweetie!” as he slunk to their bedroom.

Sitting alone in their bed, his legs pulled up in front of him and the only light that from his phone, he got back onto Skope to see what Mjolnir had left him in parting.

> **FUCK you**  
>  FUCK YOU FUCK YOU  
>  FUCKING PISSDOG MOVE YOU FUCKING WORM  
>  NO PICTURES, NO PICTURES        
>  I WILL FUCK YOU IN HALF  
>  **8~X  8~X  8~X  8~X  8~X**

**** mjolnir** has blocked you. **

Seth sighed.  Blammo.  Dream over.  Fucking Amber.  Girl was a treasure but... she did have a habit of trashing his life.  He navigated to his photo album idly, looking through the pictures of her and the kid – how could he stay mad at her?  Debt or whatever.

“Shit’s wack,” he breathed, and then swiped to the screencap of Mjolnir.

Seth’s eyes widened as he took it in, turning up the brightness on his phone so he could see properly.  He’d done it, he’d got it so perfectly – snapped it right as Mjolnir’s face appeared, as he scrambled to close the computer.  White darted beard, curls falling down his shoulders, and a gaunt, panicked face, much older than Seth.  And then – that one eye.  A pearly white circle in its centre, obscuring the pupil, reflected in the laptop’s light.

“What the fuck,” said Seth under his breath, staring at it.  He looked familiar somehow, like something Seth had seen in a nightmare, or maybe on television.  But he’d watched so much television growing up, memories of sitting around with his mother, zoned out in front of the screen while she sat behind him, flicking through news and celebrity channels, her sad voice, _Look, Sethy.  It’s y’brother._

And hell, whaddaya know.  It always was.

Now why did this gay fuck look familiar?  There had to be some way to find him.  Seth stroked his own goatee unconsciously, stayed up for it, curled in on himself and fantasising about asking klokateers to rake the world for this dickhead, to burrow deep and flush him out of his hole.  But he needn’t have bothered, because he woke up the very next morning to a hungover wife and a message on Skope:

*** **mjolnir** has requested your contact details. ***

*** **theguru** has shared contact details with **mjolnir**. ***

> **Changed my mind.  
>  Cafe Bohemia, St Petersburg, Thursday night.   
>  Be there after 9.  Not before.  Asshole.**

And he sat up in bed awkwardly, noticing Amber turn over onto her back, cracking her red eyes open at him angrily.

“Well, looks like daddy's goin’ to Florida, angeltits,” he told her with a smile, and the woman just turned over again with a groan.


	3. Anne Bonny

It was not hard, despite his debt, for Seth to pass off the holiday time with Dethklok from there - the more sceptical part of him suspected Offdensen was glad to have him forfeit control of Dethklok Australia for a weekend, and guessed he'd come back on Monday to all his careful tax evasion restructured into different accounts and companies, and his calendar completely reformatted according to the CFO's preferences, but somehow he couldn't seem to give a shit.  If the old fuck wanted to play financial dominatrix then he could. 

Whatever he did to Dethklok Australia behind Seth's back was irrelevant, ultimately, in the face of Seth's incredible financial flexibility, and regardless, the CFO - despite not understanding Seth's underlying principles of debt and opportunity, y'know - was absolutely anal about his job, and would probably leave things neater than they had been before he'd interfered.  Seth was more of a bigger picture dude, y'know, huh.  Smaller matters, subsidiaries and whatever, were inconsequential and not deserving of his attention.  But Offdensen, a persnickety, nit-picking, hair-pulling, worrisome son of a bitch, would fixate on that stuff in his absence.  Had to control fucking  _everything_.  A waste of time.  But Seth would let him do it.  If it made him  _happy_.  If it got him the time off, a holiday in Florida.  Sounded fuckin' balmy, hells yeah...

More difficult was passing it with Amber - not because she disagreed, but because she didn't appear to care.  All Seth needed was for her to say  _yeah, whatever_ to him raising the topic, but all week she'd been ignoring him.  You know, just a single freaking text would do,  _darling!_   He supposed she had a new girlfriend who was occupying all her attention, you know,  _girlfriend_ , like they'd agreed it was fine without telling him,  _girlfriends_ , considering in many ways it was a marriage of convenience.  Girlfriends, heck yeah, that was _hot_.  She could do whatever with  _girlfriends_.  But also, he'd discovered, fucking annoying.  Really had to schedule this or something.  A solid weekend of "Uh, so, babe.  Goin' to, uh, Florida on, uh, Thursday, yeah?" and she hadn't even looked up from her phone.

Well, two could play at that game.  It had gotten to Wednesday night by the time she paid attention, looking at him over her phone where she was crashed on the couch with the kid snoozing on her belly, as Seth answered the apartment's door to klokateers and got them to fetch his bags.  She hadn't even acknowledged him packing them.  God damn it, the girl was a harsh fucking mistress sometimes.  Was he being _punished_ , do you think?  Nah.  Amber wasn’t, you know... that deep.

He noticed her looking, and cast a glance over his shoulder at her mid-last minute check through his suitcase for toothpaste and condoms and shit.  "I told ya, I'm goin to Florida," he told her.  "For the weekend, or whatever."

She looked back at her phone, so Seth turned back to his bag bitterly.  He'd retrieved the toothpaste and electric brush.  All good to go.  "Gonna go fuck some dude in the ass for four mill," he remarked sourly, and Amber's eyes flicked back up to him as he replaced the brush and tube.  A beat.  And then he heard her laugh to herself, and only just caught her long eyeroll over his shoulder as he zipped the case up again.

Seth left her texting with a gleeful grin of malice across her made up face, stroking their baby's head, and made brief eye contact with one of the klokateers as he straightened.  The klokateer looked confronted, and quickly looked away.  "Huh, that's fuckin' right, ya lil' goofball," he sneered quietly at the goon, "Huh!  I do what I fuckin' want.  You keepin' that to your tight ass self, or news of your fuckin', not mindin' your own sweet beeswax goin' straight to the big boys, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

The klokateer looked at his feet and nodded.  Seth had not gotten through his prison sentence unscathed by playing fair.  Huh, some of those skills, they were fuckin'... cross-discipline.  Y'know.

The plane journey to America was long and boring, even in first class.  He took the liberty of getting fucking smashed on the complimentary drinks and slept most of the way, and even though the thought crossed Seth's mind that his parents had made the same 24 hour, cross-timezone journey to visit him and Amber upon the birth of their grandchild, not once did he consider their discomfort in light of his own, feet up against the chair in front of him and watching reruns of  _Curb Your Enthusiasm_ on the inflight entertainment system.

In fact, it was the first time he was travelling back to America since the big move, and jeez, as he stepped out onto the tarmac to the fucking storms of St Petersburg's wet season, he wondered if it was even worth it.  At least Sydney was fucking sunny, even when it was on fucking fire.  This place, Florida - and it was his first visit to the state, at that - was just dire.  He couldn't believe Pickles had chosen this place over L.A. for all of the god damn 90s.  Why the fuck would you?

The klokateers wanted to escort him.  In case of assassination attempts.  Seth did not want to be escorted while he was escorting, and told them to take the night off.  He’d go _undercover_.  Well, it was fucking raining but it was still Florida, it had to be something _fun._ Before sending them off, Seth sent the klokateers to obtain something _fun_ and _gay_ and  _metal_ \- to seduce Mjolnir with - and they returned to the hotel room he was hidden in with an outfit that was vaguely terrible, though Seth couldn’t see that except in the fact that it was not very metal.  Sure, the new Black Sabbath cons were pretty cool, _WE ZOLD OUR ZOULZ FOR ROCK N ROLLZ_ , and a shirt with a skull with wings and something that Seth was pretty sure was in that Johnny Depp movie about Las Vegas printed on it, but once he’d put it all on with the distressed skinny jeans, fake glasses and a scarf (they professed to be worried about him adapting to the cold, like he didn’t come from fucking _Wisconsin_ ), even Seth could see that the overall effect was not so much metal as, uh.  Something else.

“I look like a fuckin’ faggot!” he snapped at them, and one of them shrugged helplessly like _wasn’t that the mission?_   He turned in the mirror, looking at his ass in the skinny jeans, and slapped it experimentally.  “Fuckin’ tight.  Huh.  I look like I fuckin’, cut myself and jerk off to chicks in Hot Topic.” 

Seth gave a vicious, hyena like laugh at his reflection.  “Get me some fuckin’, eyeliner.  Jesus fuck.  No, I’m fuckin’ _serious!_ ”  He clapped after the klokateers, scaring one of them out of the hotel room to fetch it.  “N’ some fuckin’ hair gel!  Fuck, knew I forgot somethin’.”  Like a good little goofball they bounced back with what he’d asked for.  Add the black fluffy cardigan they’d retrieved for him, and Seth looked exactly like a man who listened to much too much Weezer in the 90s and wasn’t going to let reaching thirty stop him hitting on underage girls at music festivals. 

Not that he knew anything wrong with that.  Just giggled his way through copious eyeliner application, oblivious to the other klokateer’s cringe under her mask.  She hadn’t killed a man in order to apply eyeliner to a guy so he could get fucked up the arse by a stranger.  But whatever pleased her lords, she guessed, and no doubt Pickles would have been pleased at his brother’s public humiliation – if only anyone in Florida had cared enough about Australia to recognise the guy.

Seth dismissed the klokateers in the end, but not before they’d written down the number for a taxi for him and googled what he was supposed to do if a dude wanted to eat his ass.  Something about jail was mentioned and Seth smacked the male klokateer in the general mouth area with the cordless phone unit until it came back with blood, then dropped it on the floor as he fought to catch his breath.  “ _That’s_ what fuckin’ happened in jail, motherfucker!” he screeched, and made them explain douching again, laughing every time they said the word.

Left in the privacy of his hotel room, Seth did his best to make sure he was presentable in the event of a free rimjob, although from the stinging he faintly recognised emptying one of the complimentary shampoo squirt bottles to use as a douche might not have been in his top ten ideas.  Dressed like a Pitchfork vlogger with a sex crime record with his ass feeling like it was full of fucking ants, Seth was unleashed upon St Petersburg.

When he got out of the taxi at Café Bohemia it was 8:30 pm, and Seth was vaguely aware he had promised he wouldn’t be there before nine and so pushed up his glasses and entered in stealth mode.  For a café on a Thursday night, the place was pretty crowded – Seth had to push his way through the milling people to reach the counter and order a jug of beer.  There appeared to be some kind of ‘music’ act on, if you could call this shit music; the café was completely filled with screeching synthesizer and a sound that might have come from a Gibson’s PTSD flashbacks.  Seth winced just to hear it and immediately headed for the smoking area.

He couldn’t see Mjolnir around – figured he’d be pretty easy to spot with the bung eye and all – so positioned himself near a hot chick of about his own age with pasty white makeup, smoking and bored all on her own behind a cash box and a bunch of CDs stacked on the table in front of her, the palm trees over the wooden fences whipped aggressively behind her by the building storm.  “Hey, baby,” he said, and sat down opposite her even though it was woefully apparent she was supposed to be a merch girl and he was blocking her, what, zero customers?  I mean.  If he was gonna be a fag, might as well get some chick’s number out of it.  Remind him that he still _had it._

She looked at him like he was some sort of worm, crawled out from inside a bloated dog’s corpse yet inexplicably wearing a Marx Brothers mask, a very specific expression hard to render without illustration.  As it was, Mjolnir knew exactly the emoticon for this situation:

**‘,:^S**

But Seth didn’t.

“Hi,” she said, and Seth immediately took that as a go ahead, pouncing on her sentence like a stoat on a baby rabbit.

“ _Hi._   Honey.  Wow, huh, fuck.  Look at those fuckin’ eyes, like... _glitterin’, motherfuckin’ jewels_.  Yeah.”  The woman’s grimace intensified as Seth leaned over the table towards her.  “I’ve like, already got a semi and I’ve only just met you, huh!  That fuckin’, shit.  You gonna kill me with that poppin’ body, baby.  Too bad the music’s a fuckin’, turn off, hey.”

“Oh, my god,” said the woman, and she smirked with a desperate look in her eye as she fought not to laugh in his face.  “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Ehh, I’m, uh, from the Advocate.  Devin.”  Seth put out his hand to her, and then kissed the back of her palm when she tried to shake it, the woman recoiling in disgust.  “Devin Townsend.”

A little snort escaped her.  “... Sure you are, babe.”  But she’d called him babe, so they were off to a great start.  “And I’m Doro Pesch.”

Seth squeezed her hand, grinning at her.  “And now I got a full stiffy.  Doro!  What a fuckin, hot name.  Fuck.”

Doro smirked at him in disgust, and carefully extracted her hand from his grip.  Somewhere inside the café, the ‘musician’ let loose a terrifying howl, distorted by the amps, which crawled its way into Seth’s spine and tightened his burning asshole with fear.  He glanced briefly over his shoulder, the woman laughing at him from the other side of the table, and when he snapped his face back to glare at her she was smirking and twirling her long dark hair around a finger, sucking on her cigarette in her other hand.

“You like that?” she purred, and Seth clung tight to his beer glass.

“Uhh, sounds, uh, fuckin’... constipated,” he mumbled uncomfortably, and Doro’s smile just drew wider.  “But I guess it must tickle someone’s funbags.  Fuckin’... _heaps_ of people out tonight.  Jeeze.”

Doro delicately nudged a CD towards him, and Seth held it up to examine.  The printed cardboard casing was totally black, the writing printed in just a slightly shiner black, and he struggled to read any of it with the low light and the fake glasses.  M A G N U S... H A M M E R S M - -

“He used to be in Dethklok,” explained Doro, refilling her glass with Seth’s jug of beer idly.  “Back in the ‘90s.  The fifth Beatle, if you will.  People always come out in the hopes he’ll unplug the synths and whip out a verse or two of ‘The Hammer’, but I’ll let you in on a little secret,” – and here she dropped her voice, leaning towards Seth – “ _It ain’t never gonna happen_.”  She pushed another CD towards him, this one in a more conventional case.  “This one’s better.  The dark stuff is never gonna chart, but I don’t think he cares anymore.”

“Huh,” said Seth, inspecting the new case.  The cover was very 80s and reminded him vaguely of stuff Pickles had smuggled home as a teenager, hidden under his jacket and listened to with headphones on the family stereo, sitting on the lounge room floor in the dead of night with the tapes held close to him like a treasure.  Seth had taken a liking to them himself and fought his brother for them, ultimately waking their parents and having them all snapped and thrown out by their father.  Pickles had never really forgiven him, but then – Pickles had never really been in the business of forgiveness to start with.

On the cover was a red, almost pink, skull with wings, chains holding them tight to the bone, and a large ‘M’ made of crossed bloody knives in the background.  Seth could remember when the first Dethklok album had come out, he remembered what it looked like and he remembered seeing the whole band on TV.  His brother looking bald and ugly with his stupid gay piercings.  But he couldn’t remember someone called Magnus – and he couldn’t remember this album.  It must not have even made a _wave._

“Everyone’s out tonight ‘cos he _never_ plays the home field.  Hell, after last July I’m surprised he even picked up a guitar again,” said Doro, leaning on her hand boredly, and Seth darted a look up at her and then opened the case to inspect the CD inside.  And whadda ya know, there on the inside cover was a tiny photo of Mjolnir, arms folded, glaring back at him.

“Shoot,” he said automatically, staring.  “I got a date with this guy.”

“Oh, really?”  The woman gave a little laugh, still leaning on her hand.  “That’s interesting.”  She seemed to think about it, smirked again, and then said to him in a sweet voice, “His taste hasn’t changed, has it, darling?”

“Huh?”  Anyone else would have seen straight through this, but Seth wasn’t the brightest light on the Christmas tree.  “You think you fuckin’ know him?”

Doro blew smoke in his face.  _Hot._   “We used to date,” she said, and smiled grimly.  “Now I’m just the merch chick.”

“Good gig?” asked Seth, considering ways to increase his profits within Dethklok, and Doro smirked unhappily at him.

“Practically a charity.  But you gotta feel sorry for the guy.”

“Huh.  Is that - like, July, y'said.”

The woman put out her cigarette in the table’s ashtray, looking at Seth with deep bedroom eyes as the palm trees whipped against the black clouds behind her.  “Mm hmm.”  In the café, the music dropped out with an static hum, and Doro began stacking the CDs together.  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough if he’s taking you home, I guess.”

Seth thought she was jealous, the way she spoke about him and cast her gaze aside, but she soon smiled again.  “No, it’s good.  It’s good for him,” she said, and then leaned across the table to speak to him as she stood up, CDs and box in hand, “Quick word to the wise, honey: ice first, then apply heat.”

Doro indicated to her throat, and then held her hand out for the CD Seth had.  “I gotta set up the table inside.  He’ll probably leave through the fire exit.  Social anxiety, you know,” she explained, and Seth looked up at her cluelessly.  “Mm.  Don’t tell him I said that.  I’ll let him know you’re waiting, if you want.”

When Seth still didn’t hand over the CD, Doro just rolled her eyes and turned her shoulder on him.  “Fuck, whatever, keep it.  I don't give a shit, anyway,” she huffed and left him.

“Bitch,” spat Seth after her, but pulled his cardigan closer around himself and – a peal of thunder tearing overhead enough of a warning for him – downed what she’d left of his beer and slunk through the café, elbowing his way through the crowds.  He found the fire exit past the bathrooms and ignored the _No Entry_ signs, stepping out into a grimy alley with the door closing behind him and smothering the babble inside.  With a short, anxious sigh, Seth sat down on the doorstep, lit a cigarette and waited, flicking through the CD’s booklet in boredom.  Just lyrics – verbose and resentful.  But then, it was a long time ago...

The gale stewed overhead, the alley possessing a strange calm like the eye of the storm.  In time – too much, thought Seth, tearing the edges of the glossy booklet to starve off the boredom – the door opened behind him as if it were drawing a breath, and a presence lingered over Seth, its voice a sharp snarl in the still air: 

“Thought I told ya not before nine, Devin.”

Seth shut the CD case abruptly.  “What y’gonna do, turn into a fuckin’ pumpkin?” he asked, looking over his shoulder up at the man.  And up.  And up.  And even as he got to his feet, up some more – for Magnus Hammersmith was a man of terrifying height in the flesh, and Seth barely reached his chin.

Oh, fuck.

It was him all right.  Without the blur of the Dethfone and blue computer light, Magnus Hammersmith – Mjolnir – _the Hammer, ohh, okay!_ – was somehow more frightening, with his great height, his gaunt features, the streaks of grey darting his swaths of dark curls and long beard, and his dead eye deep set and dim beneath a drooping eyelid.  He was dressed in a large black jacket, zipped halfway up his chest to a grey shirt, and tight black jeans, hefting a guitar case and a large black armoured equipment case in his arms.

He merely sneered at Seth and dropped the equipment case into his arms, Seth instinctively catching it and swooning under its weight.  “Carry that.  We’ll go get a drink,” he said, and walked past him into the alley, “We’ll do your little interview.  And if you put my name in your article, I’ll tell your wife you’re a cocksucker.”

Seth snorted angrily and trotted in Magnus’ wake, struggling under the weight of the equipment case.  “Oh yeah, right, huh, sweet greeting, dude.  I come all the way from fuckin’ Australia to see you and this is the thanks I get,” he grumbled, “How the fuck d’you think you’re gonna fuckin’ get holda Amber anyway.  I can’t even get her to fuckin’ look at me over Friendface and that’s when I’m fuckin’ her.”

“ _Amber_ , is it?”  Magnus didn’t even look back at him as he led out into the street.  “Amber.  Well, Devy, just say I got my ways.”  He was not aware of Seth’s lined eyes glaring daggers at him over the top of the equipment case from behind, or he ignored them – just as he ignored someone yelling out, _hey, Magnus!_ , just fishing up a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket with his free hand and drawing one out with his lips, lighting it a moment later as he walked.

“Fuck, I hate Florida,” he said under his breath, and only then looked aside as Seth reached his side.  “You’re buyin’ me a drink at the Midnight, all right, buddy?”  And Seth just stared at him.

“Ain’t ya?”  Only now did Magnus smile at him, stopping in the street and tilting his head towards a sign on the building beside them.  Seth looked over in alarm.  _Midnight Bar - >_ _Downstairs._   And a doorway, the stairs leading down past the pavement.  Magnus just grinned at him and pushed past with a whiff of cigarette smoke and stale weed, and Seth struggled with the equipment case.

“Aw... yeah?  I guess I am,” he squeaked, and followed the clack of Magnus’ Cuban heels on the stairs down into the dark and smoke of the gloomy basement rock bar, tripping over his own sneakers on the narrow steps down.

Through a bead curtain below and Seth emerged into the bar, dimly lit with red and orange beer signs and hazed by cigarette smoke.  He could make out Magnus’ silhouette towering before him, stalking down past the narrow bar and booths to one at the end, the mirrors on the walls reflecting Seth as he tottered behind.  Catching his reflection, Seth still thought he looked fucking gay.  He had to admit he was surprised that Magnus, Mjolnir, did not look gay at all, or no more than any member of Dethklok did.  Perhaps he was, as he’d noted over their Skope chat, truly straight and just faking gay.  Ehh... Seth didn’t get it.

Magnus leaned over the bar to order a drink from the bartender and pointed to Seth, smiling, then leaned his guitar case against the last booth and slid into the red vinyl seats.  Seth put down the equipment case by the booth table’s column and then approached the bar, looking up intimidated at the shirtless, balding, bespectacled bartender, about his age.  He was disappointed to find out Magnus had ordered an expensive American whiskey on the rocks, and reluctantly shelled out for both that and a Bud Light for himself, earning a sneer from the bartender.  Frankly he’d been gagging for one for fucking months.  Australian beer tasted like fucking piss.

When he slid into the booth and pushed Magnus’ glass towards him, the guy cocked his eyebrow at first the beer and then at Seth, but said nothing.  They sat in silence, Magnus smoking and taking the first slow sip of his whiskey, ignoring Seth’s eyes darting up and down his shadowed form with curled lip betraying a toxic blend of disgust and curiosity.  Seth wondered how far he’d have to take this, if the photos were somewhere in the cases they’d brought in or what.  _If_ – and that was a big _if_ – he had to suck a dick, was he okay with it being this guy’s?  Seven by five.  Now Seth thought about it, that was... not small.  Seth owned a carved switchblade which was seven inches long, and it was not a small knife.  You know.  Quite a big knife, really.

Magnus poked him in the ankle lightly with the pointed toe of his boot, unseen under the table, and watched him with a distant smile above as Seth jumped in fear.  He leaned towards Seth, and sitting nearly beside him in the arch of the booth Seth could hear his quiet voice easily in spite of the loud rock music across the PA.  “You gonna do that interview, buddy?”

Seth gulped and nursed his beer anxiously.  “Uh, fuck.  Yeah.  Yeah, I am.  Fuck,” he said, and Magnus seemed huge by his side, leaning back on in the booth and watching him silently from behind his hair.  With that dead eye – it seemed to suck Seth in every time he made eye contact.  “Uh, so...”

“So,” echoed Magnus, a faint smile quirking at his lips.  Seth stared at his beer, and then thought to the CD crushed in his hands – its plastic case had been splintered under the equipment case, and he placed its shattered body timidly on the table between them.  Magnus regarded it warily.

“I met y’friend... Doro.  Said ya used to be in motherfuckin’... Dethklok,” said Seth, and Magnus inclined his head slightly.

“Doro?”

“The CD chick.”

Magnus’ smile pulled a little tighter.  “Oh.  Cottonmouth.  Where the _fuck_ did she pull ‘Doro’ from?” he said quietly, and Seth thought this man was not much at all like the one he’d spoken to over Skope.  _This_ Magnus was withdrawn, no games, just a watchful, one-eyed gaze and sluggish movements as he tapped the ash off his cigarette, the smoke curling up red through the bar’s haze.

“Look,” said Magnus slowly, tipping the whiskey and ice in his glass as he raised it, “I don’t do interviews about Dethklok, got it?  If you’d done five god damn seconds of research you’d know that.”

Seth glared at him through his glasses.  “Yeah, well, huh, it’s not like a fuckin’ knew you were in that motherfuckin’... band.  I never even heard of you before,” he said, and Magnus glanced sideways at him more completely than before, a  weight lifting from his face.

“That’s good,” was all he said, though, and Seth watched closely as he took a sip from his glass again, following the way his thick bottom lip pressed up against the glass, the kick of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the peak of his tongue over his lip as he pulled back again.  Jesus.  He really was a big motherfucker up close, huh.  Seth hadn’t felt this tiny since his last run in with that Everglades monster his brother toted around.  It must have been something about the humidity down here, he supposed.

“You, uh... got them photos?” he asked timidly, and sucked on his beer as Magnus took his time in reply.

“At home.”

“Aw huh.”  Damn it.  The motherfucker really wanted to eat some ass, huh.  Seth glowered into the _Bud_ on the label of his Bud Light as his asshole crawled with shampoo burn.  “Dang.  Can I ask... huh... what they’re of...?”

Magnus raised his eyebrows at Seth.  “Pickles,” he said, and the word sounded bizarre on his tongue.  Seth thought, in the new context, it was fucking strange to have photos of your bandmates fucking, but then the whole band was apparently hella gay and awful so...

“Right,” said Seth, tipping his beer at Magnus, and the man sniffed slightly.

“Not _just_ Pickles.  I had, uh.  A collection,” he explained, his tone weird as he put out the stub of his cigarette in the ash tray, “Sorta.  But you asked, about Pickles.  Y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Yeah.”  Magnus rested his hands in his lap and stared at his whiskey awkwardly.  Seth frowned at him.  This was going downhill, fast.  Gotta look like this was an interview.  Gotta be a sure thing.

“So, uh... everyone was... like, hells fuckin’ gay, huh?” he asked, and Magnus darted his gaze up to him.

“No – well.  I guess.”  He gave a stiff-shouldered shrug.  “I dunno.  It’s hard to, uh... think about.”  Magnus weakly rubbed his dead eye, the exhaustion clear on his gaunt, sunken features.

“There was a lot’ve... y’know... _doesn’t count_ in those days... doesn’t count if it’s just a handjob.  Doesn’t count if ya don’t swallow.  Doesn’t count if you’re the one pitching.  Doesn’t count if ya don’t catch... y’know... _feelings,_ bullshit.”  He gave a bitter sigh at the thought of it.  “And all it ever lead to is guys spittin’ cum out on your trouser leg, y’know what I’m sayin’?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Seth, trying to ignore the tightness in his pants and look as gay as he could with a flirty grin and a cock of his head.  “Yeah, I get ya, bro.”

“Right,” murmured Magnus, and Seth took a deep breath in.  This was fucking pointless.  He needed those photos... but that meant...

“Ehhrr.  I gotta take a piss,” he said loudly, and Magnus frowned at him under his heavy brow.

“That's a... li’l more information than I needed, Devy.  But go right ahead, it’s a free country.”  He sat back in the booth and swept his hand towards a neon bathroom sign on the back wall, and Seth sprung to his feet, tapping on the table as he rounded the corner.

“Just hold right.. fuckin’ there.  I’ll... squirt it out like fuckin’, liquid fuckin’ lightnin’,” he said, and Magnus’ good eyelid gave a twitch in disgust as Seth pranced away.

The bathrooms were dingy and intended for snorting coke.  Seth dearly wished he had some.  Maybe he could lick the top of the towel dispenser and... nah.  He sized up to the urinals and made good on his promise to Magnus, zoning out staring into the tiles as he pissed.  Now that – that, in his hands, was definitely not seven by five.  He was mildly upset to find it slightly porked, too, at least as much as in his conversation with Doro, and really wondered about his fucking subconscious.

Gotta get those photos.  Seth tried to imagine what they showed but felt sick.  He probably shouldn’t have drank on an empty stomach, huh.  Once he’d zipped up again, he faced himself in the mirrors and took in his skinny, black-clad reflection, the boxy glasses, the slicked fringe drooping in front of his face.  Gotta get those photos.  Gotta get Magnus home.  Easy peasy.  Too fuckin’ easy.  Four million dollarydoos, straight into his checking account.

Seth sized up his reflection, trying to find the stance that showed the most dick.  “Now,” he said to himself, “This is, like, a fuckin’... moral test of oneself.  Sacrifices... what you’re willin’ to fuckin’ take, for ya family, and for number one.  Who’s important?  Number one.  That’s you.  That’s piss.  Heh, nah.  You ain’t piss.”

He pointed to himself, full of faux strut.  “It’s important, bein’ a fuckin’, metrosexual.  Business fucker.  You gotta be able to charm ‘em.  Cross the board.  Real fuckin’ important.  You ain’t done none of this shit in jail.  You ain’t done none of this shit under the fuckin’ bridge, in the fuckin’ change rooms, _regardless of fuckin’ opportunity_.  Y’see Seth, my man.  There’s a time and a place.  And a man gotta make sacrifices.  Yeah, fuck.”

Seth gave a dry swallow, trying to ignore his voice growing more hysterical as it echoed off the bathroom walls at him.  “You gonna go out there.  You gonna finish your drink – don’t be rude.  Then you gonna let him take ya home.  And you gonna get those photos, and that five mill.  Four mill.  Fuck it, _five mill_.  And if you gotta let him suck your dick... then it’ll be, cuz you fuckin’ earned it.”

God, he felt like he was going to cry.

“Okay.”  Seth straightened his cardigan, slicked his fringe, swallowed again.  “You gonna be a sure thing, Sethy.  Been nice talkin’ to ya.  Go fuckin’ murder this cocksucker.”

And he left the bathroom without washing his hands.

When Seth returned to the table, Magnus was sitting demurely where he’d left him, pushing the empty whiskey glass back and forth with his fingers.  Seth grabbed his beer bottle, but was surprised to find it empty and his hand lifted too fast off the table, jolting him.  Oh, right.  Yeah.  He’d finished it.  That kinda, y’know.  Ruined this whole scene he’d had.  Y’know.  Being a sure thing and all.

He stood at the end of the table, pale and clutching the bottleneck tight, and gulped as he made eye contact with Magnus.

“Whaddaya say, uh.  We ditch this fuckin’ dive, and, uh.  You show me them photos.  And I’ll, uh.  I’ll - - ”  Gotta be a sure thing, Sethy.  Gotta be a sure thing.

“And I’ll fuckin’, suck you off in the car or, fuckin’, whatever,” came out of Seth’s mouth, weak with desperation, and Magnus stared up at him.

His expression was hard to read, but Seth thought he looked like someone had hit him in the face with a cold fish.

“Uh,” he said eventually, his hands dangling in his lap helplessly, “... okay?”

Seth stood aside to allow Magnus to slide out of the booth, the other guy still watching him like Ashton Kutcher was going to jump out from behind the bar at any moment with a full TV crew, but nothing happened.  No one else had even heard the exchange.

“Sure,” said Magnus again, still not quite believing the situation, and Seth hoisted up the equipment case.  Magnus carefully balanced his stolen CD on top of it as he lifted his guitar, and then he led out of the bar, Seth staggering proudly in his wake.  That had been way easier than he’d thought it would be.  Go Seth!

“I’m just parked at this compound...” Magnus muttered as they came out into the night air again, the fat, hot splashes of the storm’s first rain plopping onto the pavement around them.  Seth made a small sound of disgust but Magnus didn’t seem to care, and he led Seth through a winding maze of streets to the parking lot, still downtown, and a black pickup truck, a modern classic if a little dinged up, the two cases soon stowed under the tray cover.

Seth was certainly aware of the tension when they got in, sitting beside this huge, dark stranger on the benchseat, but the rain had picked up outside now and he had no intention of getting soaked today.  Magnus stared at the rain on the window, and then turned the key in the ignition.  The starting purr of the engine was very handsome, even Seth could recognise that, and he sat awkwardly with his legs crossed in the passenger seat to hide his growing arousal.  It was the skinny jeans, you know.  They did that kind of thing to a guy.

“Are you, uh, takin’ me home?” asked Seth eventually, realising that they weren’t going anywhere, and Magnus snapped out of his daze to nod slowly and shift into first.

“Yeah.  Sorry,” he said softly, and Seth watched him in the dim shadows of the headlights through the window.  There was something on Magnus’ mind, and eventually he just dropped his head, giving a shy smile, and would not look at Seth.  “Just been a while, man.  It’s not you.”

“Yeah.  Right, dude.  That’s, uh... okay.” 

Seth drew a deep breath and looked out the window, but then there was a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he turned back to Magnus to a faceful of curls and a dark voice, too close, murmuring, “Devin,” right in his ear.  Magnus curled his arm around his shoulders, bringing Seth close, and then kissed him, just on the lips but lingering.  When he pulled away again, he kicked the car into gear and did not look at Seth again for the entire drive.

And Seth, he felt very, very small.  And there was no sound except that of the engine and rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brinepools has put together a useful visual reference for Devin [here](http://trashvarietyhour.tumblr.com/post/161675513348/hey-mordland-i-hope-its-ok-that-i-drew-ur-seth), and one for Devin In Distress [here](http://trashvarietyhour.tumblr.com/post/161724812928/one-more-devin-sorry-mordland-and-a), and I'm still fuckin' blushing.


	4. System Blower

Magnus drove in silence.  Perhaps that was the most disconcerting thing for Seth, so used to his world being filled with the music of Dethklok now, or else pop stars when Amber was in orbit; there was always background noise, always music in his life.  Here, suddenly, in the suburbs of St Petersburg with the storm buffeting the truck and trapped in the presence of this monstrous man, stinking of cigarettes and pot and other, body scents Seth strove not to think about, there was silence.

When he asked that they put on the radio, Magnus had said, very slowly: "Nah.  I don't like the radio."  And then sank back into silence.  Seth had listened to the quiet and felt like a little kid, staring out the black window at the rain running over the glass, illuminated by the streetlights, and then he'd proposed the CD instead - thinking that the ego trip would get him in the guy's good books.  But Magnus had just looked sideways at him with a twinge of sympathy.

"Not sure I can endorse that.  It's pretty, uh.  You know.  Bad, man."

“Huh, naw, you were in fuckin’, Dethklok, right?  So, huh – ”

When Magnus seemed to rile, his grip tense on the steering wheel, Seth jumped ahead to add, “I mean, this is you without those fuckin’ homos so – you gotta fuckin’ work for that shit, no handouts, y’know what I’m sayin’?  Gotta be fuckin’... better, right?”

Magnus did not seem convinced.

“It was ’99, man.  It was a different fucking... _era,_ fuck _._   All I knew was Dethklok.”  Magnus lowered his head slightly, then glanced away from the road to gesture vaguely to Seth again.  “Fine, whatever.  Just think you’ll be disappointed, man.  That’s all.”

Seth puffed up happily as he opened the crushed CD case and slid the disc into the stereo.  The truck was noisy, but he turned the dial up over it – not too far, lest he irritate Magnus, glancing up at the guy as the opening track played.  To Seth’s shock, it started with a fucking _piano_ , probably electronic, winding its way through minor arpeggios in an imitation of _Toccata_ or something sinister, Seth wasn’t a classical fan.  It was soon joined by a guitar part, keeping up with the crystalline piano, and a pulse of bass which was, by the sound of the finger falls, the unique signature to the sound, almost definitely played by the same person as the guitar.

This introduction dove and crescendoed, a wheeling guitar solo – and Seth looked up at Magnus, trying to read the guy’s face though he gave away nothing, focused on the road – then plunged into the first track, which was a grinding, halting thrash massacre, just the kind of thing that got Seth off his tits when he was on speed, and he felt just a little bit of awe for the man beside him.  A hysterical scream tore through the track as the vocals were about to hit and Seth was bouncing to hear what ’99 Magnus had to tell him about how much Dethklok sucked when ’09 Magnus reached across and shut the stereo down, jerking the car back into abrupt silence.

Magnus held his body rigid, anxious, hunching over the wheel and sparing no glance at Seth.  For his part, Seth swallowed back the stiffness in his throat and frowned at Magnus, cuddling back into his fuzzy cardigan in the darkness between them.  He could still feel where Magnus’ lips had touched his own, like he’d gotten some sort of gay lump in the place, but whenever he touched them there was nothing there.   “That was... y’know... fuckin’... it was good, yeah,” he squeaked, retrieving the disc, and Magnus stayed frozen.

“It was shit,” he growled.  And that was the end of it.

Seth sat in silence for the rest of the journey, scared out of his wits, until they ultimately pulled up to a large white house in the suburbs.  Although he could see through the rain that there was a garage, Magnus pulled up the truck in the driveway outside the door and didn’t even appear to have the remote to it, just parking in the rain out the front.  The car turned off around them, its engine falling into the hush of the rain, and Seth thought he could feel Magnus’ body heat against the cold radiating through the windows, reaching out to him where the guy sat, head bowed, staring out the front window.

Seth realised what he’d promised as Magnus stirred, turning his head to look at him with his dark hair falling around his face, one eye a dark hole, the other a moon in the streetlight filtered through the rain.  He drew back from Magnus’ drilling stare, cornered in the car seat, and was pretty sure he was having a heart attack.  Pretty sure, you know – tightness in the chest and numb arm and everything.  Fuck.  “Uh...”

But before he could spit the words out, Magnus’ voice filled up the air between them, warm and measured: “Are you afraid, Devin.”  Barely sounded like a question on his tongue.  Seth kept his hands in his lap and felt – you know.  Unsafe.  In the dark, alone with him.  It wasn’t normal, for a man to look at you like that.

Seth licked his lips, watching Magnus closely for any sudden movements, and when none came shook his head.  He wasn’t _afraid_.  He wasn’t afraid of _nothing_.  He definitely wasn’t afraid of _getting a dude off_ , not when no one fucking _knew_ , it was just like... you know... collecting semen from a bull or something, if it had to be done to achieve his ends then it had to be done, but it was just... just the way Magnus acted.  Seth hadn’t expected the kiss and he didn’t know what to think of the large, warm hand that was laid gently on his arm now, that snaked across his shoulders as Magnus shifted closer on the bench seat.  Seth froze up, pulled against another body all heat, and winced his eyes shut as he prepared for Magnus to shove his face down to his crotch.  That’s what Seth would have done; that’s what he expected gay sex was like, straight to the goods.

He shot out his hand to catch himself and stop his descent, but there was none.  Nothing.  Magnus’ other hand caught his, hot-palmed and dry.  He felt the other man’s forehead bump against his crown gently, cushioned by his curls which fell against Seth’s neck and smelt of oil, body, and Magnus murmured, “Please, don’t be,” and then kissed him again.

It took Seth a moment to unlock his clenched jaw and let it happen, wringing Magnus’ hand anxiously in his fingers without thinking where they were, whose hand it was.  Magnus must have read him wrong, pulled him closer and laced their fingers together, and his lips were hot, burning with every light touch to Seth’s.  And big, so fucking big; Seth was a kisser, sure, he was into kissing, but it hadn’t factored into his plan nor even his scattered fantasies of  gay encounters, shuddered off under cold showers.  He couldn’t fathom the huge form pressed up against him, being so close to a man’s body and not having his face slammed into the pavement, not having a fist coming for his face, not sleighting a shiv into his palm.  Magnus was a careful and soft kisser, made it easy for Seth to slip into it, only distracted by his glasses crushed between their faces, and - more confronting - how fucking big Magnus' mouth was.  Seth felt like he might open it up and fucking eat him.  Fucking scary, man.

The hand around his back slipped up to his shoulder as Seth started to relax, even let his mouth open just that little, and Magnus’ hand stroked against the skin of his neck, then his nape, pushing through his hair.  Seth had been holding his other hand paralysed between them this whole time but now it touched Magnus’ chest as he pushed in closer, and he was almost okay with it – the silence and the body warmth, and kissing a man, the cold tip of Magnus’ nose touching his face, the hand squeezing his  own – until Magnus put his tongue into Seth’s mouth, and Seth’s eyes sprung open in shock.

There was nothing to see.  Just another, bigger face, against him, above him.  Did this dude just lick his tongue?  He was pretty sure that had happened, though Magnus kept up the kiss uninterrupted, open-mouthed, holding Seth’s head still with his hand as he unconsciously retreated beneath every push.  Magnus’ plush lips were another thing entirely, an indulgent thing, and Seth felt crass and disgusting for enjoying it but he’d never let that feeling stop him before.  He closed his eyes, kissed meaninglessly and brainlessly back, the silence meaning all he could hear the rain and the sound of their mouths together.  Fucked up.  And when the tongue returned, wound artfully around his open mouthed and then overcome by a stronger kiss, Seth heard, felt, his own grunt of surprise and falling, and that too was _fucked up_.

Magnus moved the hand he was holding then, as though at the cue, sighing against Seth’s face, and Seth felt his knuckles brush against rough denim.  He didn’t think much of it, spreading his hand to touch the place he was guided to, remembering running his hands down curvy women’s thighs and asses, and he could feel warm flesh radiating through the denim, and felt warm himself, satisfied, until he realised – by its heat, the firmness, the curve he rocked his hand over – exactly what it was and pulled the fuck back.

Magnus started, his kiss interrupted, the hand lifted from pawing at his dick, and swayed close to Seth’s face as the guy suffered and trembled, staring through his fogged up glasses.  “Okay?” he asked shortly, and Seth gulped back his stiff throat, unable to tear his eyes away from the dull jut of Magnus’ erection against his jeans.

“Photos first,” he breathed, finally raising his gaze to Magnus.  That dead moon staring at him from behind his curls, the grey hairs – straighter than the others and scattered in his mane as well as in their obvious forelock – lit up by the streetlights through the windows to eerie white.  His hand lingered heavy on Seth’s shoulder even as he leaned back from him, straightened again.

“About that...”  Ohhhh fuck.  Here it came.  There was no such thing, no photos at all.  He’d been played by a big, gay homo.  Seth could feel the cold seep through his gut, but Magnus’ hand stayed steady on him. 

“I just, uh.  Buddy.  I don’t – I dunno.”  Magnus gave a stiff shrug, casting his eyes out the front window again.  “I don’t like the idea of paying for sex... okay.  You’re like... real wound up.  I don’t wanna do this if you, like – you don’t _want to_.”

Seth just stared at him, so Magnus tried, “If we’re, y’know.  On the same page here, bud.”

“Uh.”  Seth grimaced at Magnus, looking him in the eye, and then looked down at his cock again.  And then at his face again, a great static in his head and a tightness in his chest, a heart attack.  He tallied up his reaction quickly; he was going to lie, of course, since the truth of the matter was Seth had no intention of giving any head tonight.  Magnus was concerned and that was his out.  Once he saw the photos he could cop out, put on a show of freaking, and wait until Magnus left him alone to get hold of a copy with his phone camera.  Easy enough.  But he had to get that far, first.

“Yeah,” said Seth, strangled and smiling desperately, “Yeah, no, I – I wanna.  I do.  I, uh... I’m just a fuckin, uh, writer, dude, I’m not – fuckin’ playin’ you or something.  This is... um... y’know.  Fuck.  So... fuckin’ dumb.  But I, uh, fuckin’...”

The words stopped in his throat, and Seth met Magnus’ eyes, putting out his hand to touch the guy’s thigh.  Not close to his dick, and with a different steadiness which – if Magnus had been watching for it – would have betrayed how calculated it was, how far from Seth’s real intentions.  “Now I’m _here._   Now I _know_... you were in _Dethklok_.  I’d have to be a fuckin’, _retard_... to pass that up.  Wife or not, y’know.  Huh.”

He grinned up at Magnus, only slightly faltering as Magnus picked him apart with a strange gaze, looking for something in Seth’s face that he’d never seen himself, and then the guy put out his hand to cradle Seth’s jaw, stroking his lip with his thumb gently.  Seth felt his throat seize up, staring up at those two weird, mismatched eyes – the right eyelid lazy, wounded, the dull little ring of brown around the corneal scar like a moon hovering in a dark pool – and there was a flash of pain in them, then Magnus smiled.

“Ten years and Dethklok’s still getting me laid,” he murmured, jeering at himself as much as Seth, “Lucky me.”  Seth grinned weakly back at his joke, starting a weasley giggle before he was smothered by Magnus fixing to his face again, his body freezing and painfully sensitive where Magnus’ hands raked under his cardigan and over his ribs, up through his hair and threatening to grab and twist.  He pulled back abruptly from Seth with a light gasp like he was coming up for air, and fixed him straight in the eye again – “I think we’d better go inside.” – and Seth was so shell-shocked it was all he could do to grin, nod and agree.

Magnus released him and opened his door, plunging out into the rain and leaving Seth sitting there, bamboozled, in the cold draught that rushed in as Magnus slammed the door after himself.  Sparing himself a grimace, Seth followed his silhouette around the windows of the vehicle as he made his way to the cover and retrieved his gear, carrying the cases easily by himself to the house’s door where Seth lost him in the shadows.  Conscripting Seth’s help had been a power play.  Fucking hell.  Seth looked at the window, shy of the heavy rain and the next _step_ , but being alone in the car was getting to him – as it tended to do, so easily starved of attention – and he tentatively opened it, shuddering as he stuck his arm into the cold and wet, and he decided to make a run for it. 

He pulled his cardigan up over his head and dropped out onto his feet, bolting over the lawn for Magnus who had just got the door unlocked ahead of him but moved his body to block Seth so that he could enter the dark house first with the cases.  Seth stood for a second in the downpour, stiffening with horror at the rain seeping through his clothes and drenching the lenses of his glasses, and then lurched blindly in after Magnus, shoving him aside in the corridor inside with his hightops slapping wet on the plastic board inside.

Magnus snorted at him as he closed the door behind Seth, then reached over him to yank the wet sweater off his head to a squeak of resistance.  “You look ridiculous,” he said, then, as he hefted the two cases to move into the next room and craned down to get in Seth’s face, looking through his spotted glasses and purring, “Take it off,” and Seth’s skin crawled at the invite even as he started to peel the wet wool off his shoulders.

“Man, you really want to get your ass nailed, huh,” he said to Magnus’ retreating back, and took his glasses off to watch him stalk away down the dark corridor like a fucking wendigo in his great height and horror and turn off a door into another room.  Magnus only snorted at Seth’s comment as he disappeared, so Seth cleaned the glasses off on his shirt, replaced them and followed him cautiously, looking about him at the house as he dragged the wet cardigan inside out and gathered it in his arms.

“Don’t break anything.  It ain’t mine.  I’m just house sitting the place while some friends are outta town.”

Made sense.  It was a very new house, duly not what Seth would have expected someone like Magnus to have owned, with barely any decorations on its whitewashed walls and the smell of new plaster in the still air, the darkness blue in the night and the sound of rain on the tiles a soft motion above them.  The next room was a kitchen-livingroom combination, with carpet underfoot in the living space they entered into; big couch, a TV, and the two spaces divided by a benchtop and the change to linoleum.  Magnus had put down the cases by the couch and knelt beside the coffee table, the rectangular equipment case open beside him and the equipment – a large, complicated-looking synthesizer – on the table before him, plugged into the TV with thick, flat cables.

“Wanna see something cool?” he asked with a playful curl to his voice, and Seth made his way over, watchful and slow in his movements.

“What’s _that?_ ”  Seth bit down on his tongue as it blurted out loudly in the silence between them, but Magnus was still smiling, playing with buttons and switches.

“Still got that CD on ya?”  Magnus motioned for it, and Seth handed over the case.  Withdrawing the CD delicately, Magnus inserted it in part of the unit that looked like a turntable, stacked with similar slots, and pulled several sliders.  “DVJ... new toy.  Been playing with it on their funky new system, hey?”

When he hit a cue button, lit up white beneath his finger, the television screen flashed to life as the thrash solo introduction to a [different track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wexzY8TBteU) welled up through the speakers around the room, Seth jumping in shock as one started close to his arm.  The television showed a bearded face that Seth quickly recognised as Charles Manson, projecting from a DVD that Magnus had inserted into the unit, and as the solo reached its end Magnus simply spun the turntable control and returned it to its start.  The turn rewound the image too, and though Magnus caught the end of the solo easily enough the first two times, the second he let it slip on, just grazing his recorded voice again.

 _Sitting up into the night_  
_Embraced by the tendrils of darkness_  
_Cold as Hel and black as Nyx_  
_Cloistered with my bride, paranoia—_

Magnus span the turntable angrily, catching:

_Mag, you’re mental anyway—_

And then shutting off the CD altogether, switching to another one in the unit, and the room filled with weird, static soundscapes instead.  Seth watched Magnus curiously as the guy flicked through the switches in front of him, his greys lit up by the TV screen as it flashed between scenes – Manson, military decapitations, Hiroshima, dogs fighting over flesh on the bone.

“It’s, uh... pretty cool, yeah,” said Seth, looking from Magnus to the television, but the guy was fixated.

“You can... stack ‘em up like... yeah,” he murmured, putting the streets of Hiroshima into slow-motion, then reversing the atomic bomb.  “I wanna do it live but... I haven’t put anything together proper yet.  I only just got the projector – that’s in the other room.  It connects... yeah, pretty tight...”

 _You better wise up.  The time is gonna come when all men will judge themselves before God. It'll be the worst hell, the worst hell on earth,_ came a woman’s voice from the speakers, played from a sample Magnus had in the unit, and Seth’s skin crawled to hear it.  He draped his cardigan over the side of the couch to dry, feeling his heart sneak up his throat, and stepped towards Magnus – _You gotta be ready for that, right now, right here, right now, just like that—_

Magnus started when Seth touched his shoulder, jumping in his skin and whipping his face around to look at him.  When he caught himself, he gave a strange, nervous chuckle, and put his own hand over Seth’s where it rested on his shoulder, trapping it there.  “Fuck.  Don’t scare me like that,” he breathed, and Seth frowned down at him.  Frankly, all this sample stuff gave him the willies, but this – having Magnus below him, on his knees, looking up at him – felt more natural.

“So those photos, huh?” he said, and Magnus stared up at him for a moment before he realised, the television’s pale light flashing over his gaunt features.  Slowly he shut off the audio and rose, towering above Seth again, and his large hand ran through the short back of Seth’s wet hair fondly as he moved past him.

“Yeah.  This way.”  Magnus lead around the couch to a door that stood ajar, Seth trotting after him, and into a dark bedroom, curtains drawn over the window.  The rain hammered on the roof outside and against the window itself, and the light from the television still flickered through the doorway.  It was furnished with a large double bed, immaculate dark covers, and a standing set of drawers – and it was these Magnus gravitated to once he had snapped on the overhead light, new and artificial in its yellowness, sliding open the top drawer and feeling around for something amongst the socks and underwear inside.

Seth watched him closely.  On the top of the chest of drawers was a black unit with a lens Seth recognised as a projector, plugged in with wires across the floor and out the door into the livingroom and a blue light glowing on its face like an eye.  Magnus found what he was looking for, a pencil case – or so it appeared – unzipping it and bringing out a bulging envelope.  Seth’s heart lay still within his ribs as he saw it, sitting down on the edge of the bed dumbly.  The size of it, specific, said Kodak photos, Spectra prints.  He was so close.  Sure enough, when Magnus broke the seal with his thumb, the gum tearing the paper loud in the quiet room, he saw the white edges of glossy photos.

“It took a bit of digging, but I found them for you,” said Magnus quietly, turning to face him and sliding up a photo or two with his thumb to look at, and Seth could see the envelope was labelled in an unsteady, simple hand:  _1994 – 1999_.  “Been wracking my brains for the year but... it’s like they say, man, if you _remember_ your years in a band, then you weren’t really _livin’_ them, were ya.”

Drugs, drugs, drugs drugs drugs.  Seth pouted up at him.  “Well, what, their album was like, ’99?  ’98?”

“’98.  98, pretty sure...”  Magnus held up a photo to look at, snorting at it, and on the white back of the photo paper Seth could see written, _Marla ’99._ “Fuck, that’s crazy.  I haven’t looked at these in years, man.  I was a... huh, different guy back then.”

Moving slowly, as if he was in a spell, Magnus sat down beside him on the bed and took a handful of the photos, spreading them face-up on the covers like cards from a pack.  Naked women.  Dozens and dozens of naked women.  Seth’s eyes bugged, taking in all the breasts and hips and lips, their skins bright under the flash of the camera, that eye of the 90s high contrast and velvet blacks.  Magnus shifted across, spreading another row beside them, smiling distantly to himself as Seth bent to pour over them – these bitches, these _fine_ bitches, goth chicks with piercings, black lipstick, punk chicks with coloured hair, tattoos, lace thongs, velour dresses.  Many of them repeats of the same girl, as Magnus was a serial dater, in all manner of obscene poses; with their breasts clutched in long-nailed hands, crushed together; hitting a bottle green glass bong and spewing smoke, sucking on their fingers, or rarely a hyper-exposed phallus instead, or someone else’s hand, a man’s fingers in their mouths, around their throats.

With the rush of pornography, Seth grew hot and idiotic, hunching his shoulders defensively as Magnus flicked through the remaining photos idly.  “Album, ’98.  But it woulda been... ’95?  ’96?” he murmured to himself, and then gave a gloating chuckle at one he held, _Cotton ‘98_.  “This one’s good.”  And he placed down a photo of a white skinned, dark haired girl, taken down her body skewered on the man’s cock, her legs spread and one hooked up over her hand, her other hand raked over her breasts as she stretched her bruised neck and winced in pleasure.  Seth stared at it before he realised what he was looking at.

“That’s _that chick_ ,” hissed Seth, crushing his hand into his lap uncomfortably as his cock gave a throb, “Oh, _fuck_.”  And Magnus just hummed at his reaction, pleased with himself.

“Think we get into the dudes here... yeah.”  He chucked down one after another of fey looking men, cut off at the neck, cute asses and hard cocks lolling on a dirty mattress, or else cock sucking with their doeish eyes rolled up to the photographer.  Seth looked at them with an awkward curiosity, and glanced up at Magnus to see him flinch.

“Huh, fuck.  One of me in here.  Didn’t expect that,” Magnus murmured to himself, shuffling it to the bottom of the pile before Seth could see it, “This’ll be ’96... back to the bong I had then.”

Seth shifted the photos over one another, moving aside the young men to expose the girls again.  Tits and asses, tits and asses... filthy shit.  Flicking another man aside.  A teasing smile cracked across his face as he looked up at Magnus again.  “These are so fuckin’ gay, dude.  You really fucked around with fuckin’, sissy goth faggots, huh,” he scoffed, and Magnus just smiled distantly at the photo he was looking at.

“Guess you could say that.  Bein’ bi was kinda...  fashionable, with the club kids, then...” he replied, and shuffled through the photos.  Seth jeered up at him.

“Faggots, like I said.  I mean, you either fuckin’, take it up the butt or ya don’t, right, bro?” he philosophised, and then let himself get smug about it with the proof in front of him – with a _closeted_ – he’d said he was closeted – man in front of him, “Heh.  And you take it up the butt, don’tcha, Mag.”

“You keep sayin’ that,” murmured Magnus, flicking through more photos, Kodaks and instant Spectra prints, “I’m starting to think you got the wrong idea about how this is gonna go...”

“Dude, ya fuckin’, gay, you been suckin’ fuckin’ dick, you been, takin’ it up the ass – ”  Seth scooped up a particularly graphic ass photo and held it up to Magnus, and the huge guy looked down at him placidly, his eyes flicking from Seth to photo to Seth again.

“Yeah, nah, man.  I ain’t a fan, y’know... of, uh.  Dicks, but, yeah, anything, really, up my ass.  So we’re, y’know, like I said.  On the same page.”

Seth stared up at him, then narrowed his eyes.  “But you’re fuckin’ _gay._ ”

“Bi, man.  Bi-sexual.  How thick are you, seriously?  And I ain’t – yeah, look.  You can fuck a dude and never get anything in the asshole, you know that, right?  I mean, I’ve tried it, I’m not a fuckin’ hypocrite.  Just wasn’t my scene.  I’m usually the one doin’ the fuckin’, anyway.”  Magnus thumbed through the remaining photos idly, ignoring Seth’s helpless, confused stare up at him for a while, and then looking at him sideways, “That’s freakin’ you out, huh.”

“N-no!  I’m _fine_ ,” said Seth sharply, pulling his fear back into a desperate sneer. 

Magnus looked back at his photos and muttered under his breath,  “Fuckin’, straight boys...” before heaving a sigh, “Forget it.  I’ll call you a taxi, man.”  He went to stand up, but Seth, his heart pounding in his ears as the fear rose in him and his eyes darting between Magnus and the photos in his hand, grabbed him roughly by the arm.

“No!  No, it’s okay, it’s...”  Magnus glared down at him as Seth tried to drag him back to the bed, prevent him from putting away the photos.  He hadn’t gotten this far, courted and made out with a _dude_ , just to see it all snatched away and be sent back in a fucking _taxi_.  Like a _reject_.  No one rejected Seth, no one just chucked him out like that; he could be _everything_ to a chick, have them wrapped around his skinny little finger if he so wanted.  He wasn’t going to stand up and _take_ this kind of insult from a fucking, delusional closet case.  “I just – I just – I ain’t...”

He clutched at straws as Magnus sat back on the bed, tugged down by Seth’s hands wringing hard in his damp jacket.  “I j – just...”  A desperate fear welled in Seth’s green eyes as Magnus met them, held haughtily, and he babbled out, “It’s my first time,” in a pathetic stutter.  They held gazes for a second, and Seth swallowed back the lump in his throat and then whimpered around a straining smile, “With a dude.  Nyeh... y’know?”

Magnus got that flinch to him again, that cut to his eyes, and then pulled his arm out of Seth’s hands roughly.  The guy stared up at him, his smile breaking as Magnus stood up abruptly, towering over him and holding up a photo for him.  Even in the low yellow, Seth could see nothing but red around the overhead light’s reflection.  “This is it,” said Magnus sharply, “Pickles.  Like you asked.”

Seth stared up at it, trying to make out the shapes where he was below on the bed but willing himself not to, his stomach turning in instinctive disgust.  “It’s got blood, I’m warning you now,” said Magnus, and held it out in Seth’s face, the guy’s focus blurring in front of him as he battled not to see what he was certainly seeing.  Which was his brother, his _brother_ , the famous Pickles the drummer, with his mouth on a blood-covered dick.  Nathan’s, right.  That’s what Magnus had said in his post.

“I... oh, fuck...”  Seth shoved it away with a hand, his eyes bolted wide and looking anywhere but the photo.  At the other photos.  The girls.  The gorgeous, gorgeous, fucked up girls and their bedroom eyes, safe against this world of men and blood and pain.  In the face of it, Seth's brain was a big blank zero.  Nothing except the echo of greed to pull him back to earth.

Magnus drew the picture back as Seth shoved it away, gloating over him with a scowl.  “Yeah.  Thought it was fucked up that you wanted in on that,” he said under his breath, regarding Seth as the guy poured desperately over the other photos, white-faced.  “Lesson learned, buddy.  Don’t fuck around with what you don’t want to know.  I’ll call that taxi.”

“I...” Seth sat up out of his detachment, eyes wide up at Magnus as the guy gathered up the photos back into the envelope and turned away, returning it to the case and the drawer.  “Naw,” he wheeked, clutching his own knees in front of him in shock, “I...”

Magnus raked his hair back with a hand, then pushed the drawer shut.  Seth knew he needed that photo.  It was worse than he could have possibly imagined; he’d have the high ground for life.  To get it, he needed to stay until he had a chance of getting his hands on it, and he needed Magnus to let his guard down.  As far as Seth could see, there was only one way of achieving that now.  He knew how to send a man to sleep.  He knew what sent him to sleep.  And Magnus was desperate, he’d said it had been a long time, he’d said so – ergo.  There was only one thing for it.

“No,” Seth squeaked, “No, Mmm—” – and the name was so weird on his tongue, “ _Magnus_.  No, fuck, I – _Magnus._ ”  He reached out urgently for the other man, grabbing him by his grey top and hauling on him to bring him down again mid-move for the door, his voice jumping with hysteria.  “ _Magnus_ , Maggie, _no_ , I’m – _fuckin’_ serious.”

Magnus struggled with Seth’s weight dragging on the front of his shirt, like an anchor dragging him to the bed.  Seth was about to cry, and ripped back on the fabric, Magnus lurching over him as he lost his footing a moment, his hands clutching at Seth’s to pull them off of him.  “Devin,” he said warningly, but Seth didn’t even notice the strange name, and just grabbed Magnus’ face when it was within reach.

“ _Mag_ nus!  I do wanna!  I do, _fuckin’_ , wanna – _fuck!_ ”

Magnus grimaced down at him, since his face was about to get pulled off, only to get Seth’s mouth forced wet over his own and his glasses rammed into his forehead to a muffled grunt of complaint or – or, well, of _what the fuck_ since that was the last thing Magnus expected.  As Magnus lurched, Seth wrapped his arms around the guy’s big head, anchoring him against the sloppy kiss until he finally gave in, yielding to Seth’s mouth and swooning over him, his fingers knotted in the collar of his shirt, tearing Seth off of him changing swiftly to holding him still to kiss.

Seth’s heart thudded and his gut squirmed like it was filled with snakes, sliding over each other like the tongue that Magnus slipped into his mouth, but his inner dialogue crowed with triumph.  Knew he was desperate, knew he couldn’t do anything against an easy, hot ass!  Seth kissed Magnus the way he’d kiss his highschool girlfriends, by shoving his tongue down the back of his throat, oblivious of their teeth clicking together, and Magnus responded in kind as he slipped his hands up under Seth’s shirt, his big warm hands run over Seth’s scrawny ribs.  Skin on skin contact.  Seth had won.  He tangled his hands through the grey-smattered curls, relaxing despite his pounding heart with the intoxicating rush of victory.  He’d won.  Five million dollars.  He’d _won._

With that golden glory pouring over his mind, Seth could do anything.  Including grabbing Magnus’ crotch.  His hand closed on the denim to a grunt and flinch of surprise from the man he was kissing, and this time Seth didn’t freak as his hand brushed hard flesh pressing against the fabric.  Magnus melted to the touch, nudging his hips against Seth’s palm as he groped him, and Seth tried not to think too hard about it as he laced his fingers into the belt, pulling at the cold steel of Magnus’ belt buckle and opening it.  This was fine.  It was a job, it was fine.  Five million dollars.

He thought he’d fucked up when Magnus broke the kiss, but then there was kisses on his jaw, teeth grazing his ear, lips against his neck as he leaned back under Magnus’ affections.  Feeling blindly, his face smothered by dark curls as Magnus nipped and kissed his throat, Seth managed to get Magnus’ fly down and gulped, composing himself one final time before he sank his hand into the warm hollow in the front of Magnus’ jeans.  He could feel Magnus sucking his neck as his hand closed around his hard cock, heavy in his palm through the thin material of his briefs, and thought: _seven by five_.  And it was heavy.  And it was bigger than Seth’s.  It felt likely, resting in his hand, and Magnus kissed his ear before murmuring to him, “What are you _doing?”_

“Uh...”

The other man drew back, looking Seth in the eyes with a smirk lined with concern as he cupped Seth’s face in his long hand.  “If you’re _really_ set on losing your cherry here, at least act enthusiastic about it,” he said, and cuffed Seth gently around the ear before hitching up his jeans and making for the light.  Seth sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, his dick auspiciously hard in his skinny jeans again, as Magnus plunged them into the dark and the sound of the rain again.  He watched as the other guy prowled back, stripping his belt from his jeans as he went and dropping it to the floor, and then fiddling with the projector a moment before its blue white square of light leapt up against the opposite wall, projecting the haunted visage of Charles Manson over the bed before it cut away again.

Seth had half expected a hologram.  Under lucrative deals with Dethklok, technology was speeding on at terrifying velocity, faster than he could keep up with – but then, perhaps the holograms were out of Magnus’ budget.  A fucking poser, going out of his way to set up the scene, a fucking _fag_ ; Seth knew at that moment that Magnus had planned to bed him, had arranged this to get the most out of it, to _feel the most_.  Once he’d set the projector, the gruesome images spliced across the wall above them in eerie blue light, he pulled something from inside the top drawer stash he had and ditched it at Seth, the other guy only just catching it in his shaking hands.  Seth held it up to the light and his stomach immediately flipped in terror.  Fucking lube.  A fucking bottle of lube.  Aw, hell no.

Magnus turned back to Seth and stood over him again, his cock hard through his briefs poking out the front of his jeans and his height truly terrifying as he stripped off his sodden jacket and shirt, dropping them to the floor with his rake thin, hairy body heaving over Seth.  He looked up at Magnus, holding the lube out with a trembling hand – “Not – n-no?  You said no - no ass fuckin'...” squeaked Seth, and Magnus dwelt over him threateningly, smiling with the projector light on his back.

“Not if you don't want to,” he murmured, running his hands over Seth’s neck and then winding them into his shirt.  Seth stared up at him in wonder as Magnus lifted the shirt from his body, pulling it over his head and ditching it aside then dropping to stoop before him, down on one knee, level with Seth’s neck and looking up at him.  “We're only gonna go as far as you want to, bud.”

“Yeah,” sniffed Seth, daunted by the idea that this could be any way he chose, and Magnus’ curls fell soft against his chest as the other man kissed his lips, then his neck, blushed already with the light hickey he’d managed to plant on Seth’s pale skin, then his collarbone, his nipple – lingering for a moment to Seth’s conflicted sigh – his belly, and the waistband of his briefs as Magnus expertly pulled open his fly.  Seth looked down at the man on his knees between his legs, the curls draped over his shoulders, his big face pressed into Seth’s crotch and inhaling the fabric and thought: _cocksucker_.  It seemed fucked up to him, but Seth had watched a gay porno or two and this _was_ the kind of weird thing they’d do, sniff crotches.  He could feel Magnus’ breath through the fabric, then his hot, damp mouth and stiff lips graze over his tight balls, and looked at the wall, his hand sunk in the dark, greasy curls that fell over Magnus’ shoulder.  This was not how it was supposed to go.  But if Seth could get a blowjob out of a situation, he was  _gonna._

He could barely stand to watch as Magnus eased his jeans and briefs off his hips, Seth lifting his ass from the bed a second to let him pull them down his legs.  He could see his stiff dick, pointed up towards his little pudge of belly where he sat and glistening with anticipation in the dark, and Magnus’ big scary face pressing light kisses to the sensitive skin of its underside, and Seth thought, _traitor_.  Hadn’t he always said _,_ just listen to your dick?  Because his dick was fucking _into_ this, and Seth rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, the light shining on the smudged lenses of his glasses, and then there was a tongue, a huge _fucking_ tongue, drawn up and over the head and around in a spiral, and it was engulfed with the heat of Magnus’ huge fucking mouth.

Seth couldn’t help it, his breath hitched, his hands knotting in Magnus’ curls as he set in.  Amber was a slut before Seth had knocked her up, and she could get a pretty good deep throat going, but it was nothing compared to the bizarre ease Magnus took Seth’s dick to the back of his throat with.  His mouth was wet and burning, like he ran hotter than any girl Seth had fucked.  Seth’s leg gave a twinge when he rubbed his tongue firm under the end of his glans, even flicked the tip against his pisshole, and then pulled his thick lips down the pale, veined shaft and off the end one stroke after another, and Seth gave a whine of appreciation and smothered it quickly, biting down on his fist.  Not fair.  He couldn’t get the best blow he’d had off this freaky fucking dude, only ruined by the brush of Magnus’ stiff beard against his balls when he went down again.  Guess it took a cock to know one.

He felt Magnus’ smile against the side of his dick as he nuzzled the hilt, heard his mumble, “Please, don’t be quiet...” before the tongue returned, the sucking lips.  Seth took the invite, his hand squeezing the bottle of lube he still held as he swooned under Magnus’ mouth.

“Mm, _yeah_ ,” he groaned as Magnus’ hands hooked up under his knees, rubbing his long, bony fingers over the soft skin and up his thighs, and he could feel Magnus moan around his dick in return.  “Fuck.  You cocksuckers are really... fuckin'... good at this, huh.”

“Lotsa practice,” murmured Magnus before taking Seth’s balls into his heated mouth, his fingers curling into his buttocks in a crass grope, and Seth fought a shiver that scrunched his right eye shut.  The guy was definitely gay.  So fucking gay.  No one got so good at sucking dick without making a habit of it.  In Seth’s mind’s eye, Magnus was going down on Nathan, giants complimenting each other’s company, or he was going down on the manager, which _must_ have happened, the way he kept those men on a tight, tight leash.  Or he was going down on Amber, curving his long tongue into her.  Or he was eating Seth’s ass the same way, the very thought making his asshole pinch and Seth wince at his own imagination. 

As Magnus set back into his dick, Seth tipped back his head with a groan.  “Augh, dude.  You gonna make me jizz,” he said and then gulped, and Magnus popped up in front of him, his gaunt face looking up at Seth from where he leaned on his spread thighs and swallowing back his saliva.

“You wanna cum?” he asked, brushing his curls out of his face, “Already?” and that confused Seth.

“Ah, duh?”  That was the point, wasn’t it?  Magnus smiled up at him languidly.

“If you say so.  Give me that.”  He snatched the lube from Seth even as his other hand  jerked Seth’s throbbing erection, sliding the tense foreskin over his hard shaft.  “I got a feeling you might enjoy this.”  And he released Seth to nuzzle his balls again, and then raised Seth’s legs at the knees, urging him to lay back on the bed.

Seth went easily.  Lying flat on his back, his heart pounding down through the mattress, he could see motes of dust float through the beam of the projector above them.  The rain still hammered overhead, and he felt bizarre and out of his body – as if he was in a film – as Magnus seemed to take his time, rubbing his knuckles against the skin below Seth’s balls, and as weird as that move was it still felt good enough to coax a groan from him.  Magnus took this as an invite to bring his teeth down lightly on Seth’s ass cheek to a little squirm.  Oh, boy.  Was he gonna get eaten?  He was so ready for this.  And "Get it," he breathed, heavy in his chest, and heard Magnus laugh at him.

Seth was not at all ready for what actually followed, which was a long finger, cold with lube, shoved into his ass.  He almost kicked Magnus as his leg jerked out in shock.

“Shh shh shh shh!”  Magnus hushed him, catching his knee with his other hand and holding it securely.  “Relax.  Okay?  You’re okay.”  Seth gave a weird groan, half regret and half conflicted stimulation, as Magnus drew his finger back and then pushed again, rocking the pad of his finger up inside him.  “Tell me when I get ya right.”

Seth grabbed the sheets, grimacing at the ceiling as Magnus’ tongue stroked flat against his dick again.  If Amber knew about this, he’d never live it down.  Still.  Might as well enjoy it.  Being fingered up his ass felt fucking bizarre, man, fucked up, but matched with Magnus sucking his dick, was... pretty damn nice.  The guy was really going for it now, working his dick obediently, and Seth just whined and put his hand back on Magnus’ curls.  Didn’t even think about the second finger pushed into his ass, the involuntary twitch as Magnus managed to do _something_ , and Seth grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged on it to a muffled complaint.  _Hnnnng._   Fuck.

Magnus hummed something that could have been _There?_ in tone, and Seth squirmed under him.  “Feel like I’m gonna fuckin’, piss and shit at the same fuckin’ time,” he whinged, and Magnus chuckled at him, smothered by the cock in his mouth, and gave a low hum of satisfaction.  Apparently that was how it was supposed to feel.  But the good part of it, the best part of it, was for sure Magnus finger fucking him, and Seth dragged on his hair nastily.

“Gonna – cum,” he sneered, “Real soon.  Get ready to fuckin’, swallow, you f – faggot, fuck,” as if it were a fucking impulse to cuss him out.  Magnus just hummed, happy with that arrangement, less so with Seth tearing on his curls.  With squeaks and whimpers as Magnus set in on him, Seth wrenched on his hair and gave a squeal of “F- _uck!_ ” as he ejaculated, squirting down the back of Magnus’ throat as the man held him deep, his arms trapping Seth's legs and holding him still.

“Fuck!  Man!  Dude!  Maggie!  Fuck!” squeaked Seth as he dug his fingers into Magnus’ hair and came down his tongue, and then, as the feeling washed back over him like waves off the beach, felt Magnus swallow around him, leaving Seth washed up, panting heavily.  “Maggie!  Magnus.  Fuck... dude.”

Magnus pulled his lips off of Seth and his fingers out and sat back, leaning on his thigh as he caught his breath, wiping his fingers off on Seth’s jeans, still around his ankles.  “You really know how to fuckin’, suck the guts out of a dude,” said Seth in awe, and Magnus just smiled at him, not without pride, and rubbed his aching jaw.  There was only the sound of the rain and their dual panting, a weird kind of peace with Seth’s softening dick feeling cold in the night air.  See, that wasn't so bad, bein'... subjected to this gay shit.  In fact, it was quite fucking nice.

“Man, I need a fuckin’, cigarette,” moaned Seth, and Magnus laughed at him.

“Ya ain't done yet, buddy.” 

Magnus stood up, Seth’s eyes following him as his form was lit in the projector’s lights, and stripped what was left of his clothes until he loomed naked over Seth at the end of the bed.  If Seth had been about to go to sleep (and he had been... save for the niggling thought of the photos) then the sight of Magnus’ hard cock in the guy’s hand as he stood over Seth and pumped it in his fist woke him right up again. 

“Uh.”

The projector cast Magnus’ shadow dark over Seth as he climbed onto the bed on his knees, then leaned down over him, his curls falling around Seth’s face as he lowered himself into a languid kiss, Seth taking it open mouthed and trying to ignore the taste of cum on Magnus’ tongue.  He straddled Seth’s middle, careful not to lean his whole weight on the slighter man although Seth could feel his thighs hot against his skin as he sat up over him, and Magnus regarded Seth placidly, stroking his fingers over Seth’s cheek.  Those had been in his ass just a second ago, thought Seth, but he didn’t focus on it.  The sooner he got this over with, the sooner Seth could get the photos and slink out, unseen, into the night.  And never think about it again.

Though he probably would teach Amber how to do that ass thing.

The way Magnus looked at him made Seth feel deeply uncomfortable, like he was looking at an old lover, brushing Seth’s hair back from his sticking forehead with tenderness, fondness, even while stroking his cock with his other hand.  If Seth was lucky, maybe he’d just linger on that memory and jack himself off, but he knew he’d never been that lucky in his life.  Magnus saw something else in him, smiled, and leaned over Seth to lay a soft kiss on his throat, and Seth tensed as he heard the slow mumble, “Christ, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Nah,” breathed Seth as Magnus sucked gently on his neck again, hummed against his skin.

“That’s okay... though...”  Although the hickey Magnus was trying further down his neck now would be punishment enough for refusing.  Seth laid his hand on the back of Magnus’ head gently as he sucked, wondering how the hell he was going to explain these to Amber on Monday.  Fight with a vacuum cleaner...?  Swamping with some over-affectionate leeches, maybe...?  That'd work out with the Florida trip, anyway.

Magnus pulled off him with a pop of his lips and then breathed, hot, into his ear, “At least suck my dick, you hetero fuck,” and smiled.  Seth could feel it against his cheek.

He gave a short sigh, turning his face to Magnus’ and getting an eyeful of that shitty grin, and Magnus nuzzled his face and kissed him lightly on the lips until Seth said, “Ugh, fine, _whatever_.”  That only had the effect of making Magnus kiss him deeper, still tasting of dick (but Seth guessed he should probably get used to that), and taking Seth’s hand in his own, lifting and guiding it until his fingers closed on the firm heat of his dick, drawn gently down the soft skin.  It seemed bigger, throbbing in the palm of his hand, and tighter than his own, and Seth had a weird moment of clarity as he realised Magnus was circumcised where he was not, and then forgot it as Magnus pressed their kiss onwards and urged him to stroke it.  That was fine.  It’d be done with soon.  Seth _could_ do this; he’d sucked plenty of cocks, albeit not literally before.  It was just like... a flesh popsicle and a bit of salt and it was over.  Five million dollars.  And hey.  Magnus came across a little bit of an asshole, he was sure he could goad him into taking control and just getting it over with with the right encouragement, and he wouldn't have to do shit.  And no one ever had to _know_ Seth had... let himself get used in that way.  Besides.  It wasn't being used, if you were getting paid for it.

“Magnus,” murmured Seth against his lips, and Magnus pulled back long enough to hear it.  “You’re a messed up dude, right.”

“How’d you figure?” said Magnus back quietly, delighted, and nuzzled his face, knocking his glasses askew.  _Mag, you’re mental anyway_ echoed in Seth’s head, but he didn’t dare say it.

“Metalhead... _faggot_ metalhead... too fucked up for Dethklok,” he breathed, and Magnus chuckled at him.  “You wanna... fuck my fuckin’ face, don’t ya, ya... piece of shit.”

Magnus sat back from him, grinning brightly as Seth’s hand slowly stroked up his cock again.  He pulled his hair back over his shoulders, looking as innocent as he could in the eerie blue light of the projector, feigned thinking about it though Seth could feel his dick strain against his palm.  “I wasn’t gonna _say_ , but if you’re _asking for it_...” he said, casual as you like, leaning on his hand, and Seth swore he could see a nasty scar down the wrist, now that he looked, the lump of it caught by the projector light.  As if someone had shoved a knife straight into it and torn towards the palm.  Jesus fuck.  Now was _not_ the time to point them out, even though Seth stared idiotically, but _jesus fuck._

And it hit him.  July.  Jesus _fuck._

He looked up at Magnus’ face, wide-eyed, and said, dumbly, “Yeah.”  And Magnus smiled down at him, stroking his hand across Seth’s neck.

"It's something about your face.  Damn.  You're just, hella - makes me wanna smash your teeth in."  Magnus pulled his hand back suddenly with a brief look of introspection, self-conscious of what he was saying.  "Uh... you know?  Sorry.  I'm bein'... a fucking creep, again."

"No, it's okay," said Seth, looking up at him.  "I get that a lot."

“Oh..."  Magnus thought about it, and stroked Seth's fingers where they were wrapped around his dick, studying his face. "You’re beautiful,” he said sweetly, and then moved up Seth’s body so that his cock stuck in his face, his hand still wrapped around it, and Seth thought he was being sexy to run his other hand up the back of Magnus’ thigh but encountered a world of hair and ass fluff, so quickly moved it back to lean on his elbow.  He could smell Magnus’ dick, which didn’t smell of much at all – maybe precum, maybe, though Seth had never really been close to his own.  A strong, musty smell of nothing much.  His chest felt tight, but he could still do this.  Just had to keep his mouth open.  He wouldn’t even have to try.

Seth stuck his tongue out like the girls in the hardcore he enjoyed, crass and idiot, to lick Magnus’ dick, and only flinched a bit when the skin touched his tongue.  It had a taste, though not a bad one - a clean skin taste.  Magnus’ hand cradled the back of his head, and Seth could barely see his face under the shadows and his long hair, towering over him as he swayed and thrust his dick against Seth’s outstretched tongue.  He could feel the weight of the head hot on his tongue, smearing precum as Magnus' breath faltered, and Seth fought back the wince knowing he was about to get a dick straight down the throat.  It wasn't so bad, he told himself, it wasn't any different to sucking a T-girl's dick, for example, and Seth watched a lot of  _those_ videos.  This was just... somehow, more visceral, with a man's.  More intense.  But he was as ready as he'd ever be; ready for anything Magnus tried.

Seth did not, however, expect the hand that fastened around his throat, holding him securely under the jaw as Magnus – his face frowning with concentration – stuffed his dick into his open mouth, Seth gagging around it as he clung on to the hilt.  _Seven by five_ , he thought as his throat seized against the swollen flesh, until he felt the warm globes of Magnus’ balls touch his cheek, and then he pulled back quickly, releasing Seth’s throat to a gasp and spluttering.

Magnus stroked his cheek with his thumb, cleaning saliva off his lip.  “You did good,” he muttered, and gently lifted Seth's glasses off his face, folding them and leaning over to place them aside on a bedside table before he guided Seth’s face towards his dick again, letting him rub it with his tongue rather than cram it a second time.  “You got a good mouth, Devy.”  But Seth couldn’t reply, Magnus taking his silence as cue to move his cock in again, push it further, the man beneath him battling to breathe through his nose as he swallowed hard against his cock. 

Seth held his mouth open and his breath in his chest, fighting his gagging to let Magnus get in a gentle thrust before he spluttered and sucked back off it again, his body heaving with desperate gasps.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he wheezed, if only to give his jaw a break, but Magnus had already cupped it to try again, smiling softly down at him.

“You’re beautiful.  It’s easy.”  His voice was so reassuring for such a lie.  Seth gulped back against the hard dick shoved into the back of his throat, the hand locked around his throat again as Magnus cradled his head and fucked against it, his gaze intense and ruthless above him as Seth rolled his eyes up to meet it.  Just doing so was too much for Magnus; he groaned and wrenched on Seth’s hair, pulling his head back to rub his slick cock against Seth’s outstretched tongue.  In the quiet of the room, the sound was fucking disgusting.  Seth felt his warm saliva drip down the line of his jaw, and saw himself in Magnus' photographs, with his lined eyes rolled up, the fat dick ground onto his tongue. Thank god he'd grown out of that, at least.

“Fuck.  Your fucking face...”  This time it was Magnus who grunted the curse, his hand tightening on Seth’s throat and finally choking him for real.  Seth’s free hand flew from Magnus’ cock to the wrist of the hand that strangled him, holding it tight as it choked the air out of him to a throttled croak.  “Fuck me.  Het my ass.  You choke too fucking pretty to waste it on chicks.”  

Seth disagreed, and slowly turned red.

His only relief came with the dick crammed in his face again, fighting for any breath he could steal between thrusts as Magnus hammered him against his other hand, the handful of hair he held twisted tight in his fist.  But Seth could see, feel, that Magnus was reaching his edge; the way he touched his own body between chokes, the way the sweat shone on his skin, the way he heaved with breath and twitched on Seth’s tongue.

He knew it was coming when Magnus seized onto his throat one final time, crushing down on his windpipe with his huge, strong hand, and straddled Seth’s spit-covered face, tears run down his cheeks, and jerked his dick wildly in his fist, breath hitching above him.  Seth had watched enough porn, he swallowed his tears and battled the dizziness to look up into Magnus’ eyes and open his mouth wide, his tongue stuck out as far as he could.  It was almost over.  Five million dollars.  If he could just not pass out - -

Where Magnus’ body touched him, Seth could feel the shiver, and the hand on his throat faltered in his grip right before the cum splattered across his face.  Magnus’ groan of orgasm was fucking music to his ears, the choking hand slowly releasing to just caress his neck as the last spurts sprayed Seth; he didn’t even flinch at the first dash of salty slime that hit his tongue, but the jet that hit his right nostril and lip, and then squirted straight into the roof of his mouth to roll hot and thick down the back of his throat made him choke, his throat sore and used.  All of it grossly warm, all of it fucking _cum.  But he'd won._ Magnus pawed his hair a moment, looking down at Seth’s face covered in drool and tears and cum, a fucking masterpiece, and then let go of him completely.  Collapsed back on the bed with a thud of the mattress springs, Seth’s body bouncing with the weight of him.  And Seth had fucking...  _won._

“Oh, my _fuuuuck_ ,” moaned Magnus, tossing beside him and grabbing at the sheets, and Seth – with his own shiver of disgust – slowly turned onto his front, holding his tongue out as he rolled the semen that had pooled at the back of his throat in a vile, thickening gargle and then hacked it out onto the sheet, clawing at his tongue. 

“Oh, what the  _fuck!_ ” 

Seth collapsed back onto the mattress and looked across at Magnus, naked on the bed beside him, leaning over the edge of the bed as though he was still coming to terms with the fuck.  As if Magnus needed to come to terms with it, the fucking fag...

“Fuckin'... told ya I could do it. Yeah,” croaked Seth, his voice raw, and Magnus’ face appeared in his vision again.  He had retrieved a half-used facial tissue from his discarded clothes, and leaned on his shoulder now to tenderly wipe the cum and spit from Seth’s face, smiling gently at him.

“Did  _fucking great_.  Woof.  Damn it,” said Magnus quietly, cleaning the last of it off his narrow moustache and then kissing him lightly, “You have no right to be that good to face fuck.  Fucked up, man.”  And Seth just lay there, panting, staring at him.  Then smiled.  Magnus smiled back, crooked, his dead eyelid drooping.

“I’m gonna fuckin’, pass the fuck out,” said Seth brightly, raising his eyebrows, and Magnus snorted at him.

“You made enough of a mess,” he said gruffly, and got up on the bed to clean up what was left – but then Seth felt the covers move beneath him, and someone pulling at his jeans and sneakers, still around his ankles, and the next thing he knew they were off and the room was dark, projector off, and Magnus had fallen back beside him, the covers pulled back and over them.  Magnus drew a pillow towards them, shared beneath their heads, and wrapped his long, warm body around Seth as he lay, bare skin to bare skin, his face pressed against Seth’s shoulder.  

So it was over.  He'd done it.  He'd won.  This, for what it was - being cuddled to another man's naked body, fucking  _gay_ \- was not awful.  Seth felt weirdly secure in Magnus' arms, so surreal being embraced by someone larger than him, feeling protected and possessed rather than having to carry that weight himself, as imagined as it might have been.  Magnus' arm curled over his chest, and Seth closed his eyes, let his mind wander to winged dollars and not the weight of the body draped around him, until he was sure Magnus was completely still.

And then, it was time.

And he did not, as he slipped silently from Magnus’ arms, his movements smothered by the white noise of the rain outside, a solitary peal of thunder, notice the twin slivers of white and black that opened just enough to catch him slide out, and then shut again to feigned peaceful sleep.  For Seth should have never fucked around with what he didn’t want to know, as Magnus had warned him.  But it was much too late to say you never should have struck a match when the garage was already burning.


	5. Houdini

Having freed himself from Magnus’ arms, Seth moved across the bed with the kind of stealth only a guy who had spent his adolescence sneaking out from under Molly’s nose could achieve.  The streetlight through the curtains barely lit Magnus’ sleeping form, his arm, once thrown around Seth, now wrapped around the bed’s other pillow, but when the storm flashed with lightning Seth could see him clearly, his bare shoulders, scratchy tattoos and scars on display.  Fast asleep.

Seth froze at the edge of the bed, counting. 

One Mississippi.  Two Mississippi.  Three Mississippi.

And when the thunder rolled, he lowered his feet to the floor, the sound covering his footfalls and the mattress lifting in his wake, and crept towards the chest of drawers, scooping up his phone and his underwear from his abandoned jeans on the way.

Magnus had left the top drawer open, and Seth carefully shifted the socks and briefs inside to find the pencil case, glancing over his shoulder now and then to check Magnus hadn’t woken.  No, fast asleep.  The case was bulging with the photos and other small things, and Seth stood there, watching Magnus and gulping on his sore, stiff throat as he waited for the next flash of lightning.  Sure enough. One Mississippi.  Two Mississippi.  Three Mississippi.

And he unzipped it under the cover of the thunder.

Hard to see in the dark, no light but the blue eye on the projector – a bluetooth signal, funny.  Seth pulled the envelope of photos out of the case first, placing them aside on the socks, then checked Magnus over his shoulder.  He hadn’t moved.  Slowly, Seth turned on the flashlight of his phone and sank his hand into the case for other valuables, hoping for – what, a watch?  A wallet?  A mobile?  Instead, he pulled up a line of square packets, the foil glinting in the flash – oh.  Condoms.  Seth abandoned them into the socks.  There was a small, sealed bottle of something, wrapped in yellow plastic.  The label read: _SOLVENT VIDEO HEAD CLEANER_.  Whatever, thought Seth.  What a fucking weirdo.

Considering that the other things in the case were a grinder and a tin full of weed, Seth decided it was probably drugs.  He palmed both along with the photos, and pulled on his briefs as he checked if Magnus was still asleep.  He hadn’t moved a muscle.  Now, Seth would need the light to check the photos – he looked towards the bedroom door, the light from the television still flashing through the crack, then to the two other doors on either side of the drawers.  In a minute he was standing by one, counting down to open the door. 

One Mississippi.  Two Mississippi.  Three Mississippi.

A closet.  Magnus’ friends had good taste in clothes, better than Magnus himself, more expensive, stylish.  Glance back.  Magnus lay still. 

One Mississippi.  Two Mississippi.  Three Mississippi.

The other door was an ensuite bathroom.  Seth thanked his lucky stars and snuck in, closing the door ajar before he turned on the light and wincing when the fan turned on at the same time.  He peered out the door, but Magnus hadn’t stirred at the sound.  Thank fuck, thank fuck.  Seth chucked the weed and the head cleaner bottle into the sink and sat on the edge of the tub to open the photo package, bracing himself for the sight.  Girls, girls, girls.  And eventually Pickles, the photo paper all deep red, purple, the glistening black of blood.  But this was worth so much fucking cash... he could feel his heart thudding with the excitement of it, even with the man he’d just serviced still asleep in the next room.  Uh, but it was different from Pickles licking dick in this picture.  After all, Seth had done it for _money._

Seth curled his lip in disgust at the picture, placing it down on the white tiles and looking just long enough to frame it with his dethfone’s camera and snap the photo before he made himself sick.  He sat back on the cold porcelain a minute then, flicking through the remaining photos until he found the other one Magnus had mentioned – the one of Magnus himself, and _yes_ it was incredibly explicit and yet still strangely fascinating, even after Seth had had all the explicit with that dude he needed for a lifetime tonight.  Magnus had not taken it himself, since Seth was sure not even he was that flexible, to hold a camera all the way up there while on your knees and rolling someone’s dick over your tongue.  In it, his face was unlined; his hair dark, eyes deep wells brightened by the camera’s flash with darts of gold.  The dick was black skinned, which was... something, thought Seth as he lingered over the photo, then dropped it over the one of Pickles and snapped a copy of it too.

Lightning flashed outside, and Seth looked up abruptly at the doorway, getting up to check on his... ugh... lover.  Trick.  He switched off the light with a click, sighting Magnus in the gloom still face-down and content, wrapped around the pillow.  Yeah, thought Seth, of fucking course he was.  That’s how Seth felt after cumming too.  Feeling secure in leaving him be, Seth used his phone light again to navigate his way to the sink where he’d noticed Magnus’ cosmetics bag, hoping to pocket some intoxicants for his Florida holiday – maybe something a little more hardcore.  His socked feet were silent on the tiles beneath the sound of the rain and thunder.  Not so much as a squeak to wake the man sleeping beyond.

His reflection in the cabinet mirror was horrifying.  Seth couldn’t resist inspecting it, making sure his handsome face was still intact, and almost jumped at the sight of it.  His auburn hair a muss over his scalp, his eyeliner smudged by tears, and most ghastly of all, violent red bruising up and down his throat as if he’d broken out in an allergic reaction.  He prodded it lightly, grimacing at the swollen, tender feeling, and he found spaces in his memory of barely an hour ago.  Pickles had a lot to fucking answer for, Pickles and that tight ass manager. 

Speaking of, Seth could only thank god his had gotten out unscathed.  Relatively, ooh.  That was a bit raw too actually, now he was focusing on it.  Regrets, man.  Regrets.

Seth glanced towards the door again, and seeing Magnus hadn’t moved – his big hair a dark cloud spread over the pillow – turned his attention to the bag.  Electric razor, yikes.  A comb, shaving stuff all on the sink before him.  Seth turned on the tap, fishing up water in his cupped hand to wash around his mouth and spit, croaking at the taste of stale cum that lingered in the back of his throat.  The bag was otherwise full of orange prescription drug bottles, and Seth inspected them, curious for anything he could pocket and swallow later, but he didn’t recognise any of the name brands.  Topamax, which sounded boring; Seth left it.  Seroquel, which he squinted at and then dropped into the sink with the rest of his stash, Adderall – yes please, thank you – and xannies, which he knew and loved.  _Messed up son of a bitch_ , he mouthed at his reflection, lit up in the lightning through the high bedroom window, and Seth thought he saw something move in the mirror.

One Mississippi.  He whipped his head around to look through the crack in the door, but there was nothing in the bed. 

Two Mississippi.  Seth standing like a deer in the road between the counts, poised to bolt in his briefs and high socks, his throat stiff and swollen where he held it turned, looking out the door.  There was nothing in the bed. 

Three Mississippi. 

Seth realised it all at once.  _There was nothing in the bed._

Magnus’ body slammed Seth against the sink, a hand on the back of his head ramming it into the mirror with a brutal crack.  The phone jumped to the floor with a clatter, its light beaming up beside them and lighting Magnus’ face in the mirror ghastly as he scrambled to pin Seth.  With the wind knocked from his gut and his head clutched by a rough handful of his hair as his vision swam with the initial blow, Seth’s heart fluttered in him as the man pushed him against the sink and his hand raced after Seth’s wrists, catching them easily and closing around them in a vice.  Seth barely had time to process his reflection, the blood smudged on his forehead and welling in his nostril, in the splintered mirror as Magnus’ cruel snarl, locked around the looped leather belt he held clutched between his teeth, bore down on him and bent him double, forcing his face into the sink.

“Motherfucker, mother _fucker!_ ”  Seth’s head span as he felt Magnus’ elbow come down on his neck, holding him down as he gave a useless squirm and a yelp and tried to kick back at him, but Magnus had gotten his hands behind his back, tethering them with the belt before the huge hand was slapped around his mouth, silencing him, jerking him upright.  Magnus held Seth in place with his body, standing naked against him and pinning him to the sink with his chest heaving, his breath hot against Seth’s cheek as the he squirmed in his hands.

“You _piece_ of _shit_ ,” snarled Magnus, plunging his other hand into the sink and fishing up one of the pill bottles, holding it in Seth’s face with a rattle as he hissed into his ear, “Just like your brother, ain’t ya?  Sucking back anything you can get your sticky little hands on, _fuck_ , you are _vile._ ”

“Mm hhffrr??” whimpered Seth through Magnus’ hand, which was supposed to be, _my brother??_

“What’s your name?” said Magnus, pressing Seth against the sink.  He could feel the guy’s dick through his briefs, but thank fuck he didn’t seem into it.  Seth rolled his eyes desperately and tried to find an opportunity to hit Magnus with his head, but none presented itself.

“Hhevimmf,” said Seth, which wasn’t his name.  Magnus gave a derisive scoff, shoving Seth with his body.

“As if I don’t fucking know who _Devin Townsend_ is!  How stupid do you think I am?   I fuckin’, got Devin Townsend’s fuckin _email_ , I’ve met his fucking _wife_ , you motherfucking _shit dog_.  All those fucking _pills_ done killed your brain cells, you and your _idiot_ brother!  What’s your name?  What’s it gonna be, huh, pal?  Motherfucking, _Sauerkraut?_ ”

“Iff Hheftthhh!” said Seth, which was his name, and his tongue touched the salty skin of Magnus’ hand where he gagged him, his grip hard locked on to Seth’s jaw.  Magnus looked at his own reflection a second, cursing his own idiocy, and then wrapped his free arm around Seth’s body to hold him still.

“I’m gonna take my hand off in two seconds.  If you scream, I’m gonna fucking _murder_ you,” growled Magnus, and Seth swallowed against his hand.  “One,” said Magnus, and Seth stilled in his grip, thinking about it.  He could die here tonight.  “Two.”

Magnus met his eyes in the mirror, and then removed his hand.

“It’s _Seth_ ,” said Seth, his voice raw, and Magnus frowned at him, holding his jaw still in a long, powerful hand.

“ _Seth?_   What kind of a bullshit, bourgey name is _that?_ ”

“It’s my motherfuckin’ _name_ , okay?”  Seth could feel Magnus’ hesitation, his curls touching his shoulder as he held Seth against his chest.  Seth swallowed against his raw throat, still tasting semen on his saliva.  Magnus had a... strong taste.  One that lingered.  “How the fuck y’know he’s my goddamn...”

“Brother?” volunteered Magnus, and Seth huffed and wiggled in his grip, tightening as Magnus repeated, “ _Pickles_ is your brother.  It’s fucking _obvious_ , kid.  Plain as fucking day.”

“ _Half_ -brother, huh.  Whatever.  _Whatever._ I ain’t sposed ta tell!”  Seth diverted his eyes.  “We ain’t that alike, _jesus_.”

“Really,” said Magnus, hooking an eyebrow sharply, and Seth thought he heard a little sympathy – at least the hand was away from his mouth now.  “Buddy, sorry to break it to ya.  It was the first thing I thought when I saw ya on Skope.  Knew for sure the instant you opened your mouth.  Ain’t a good regard in Dethklok for this old fuck, but I saw my chance...”

“Wait, you _knew?_ ” Seth panted, Magnus’ clutch tight on his jaw pressing painfully on his bruises and echoing the choking session barely an hour before.  Magnus merely nodded, his beard brushing Seth’s shoulder.  “You knew it was a fuckin’ trap, and you still let me fuck you?  What the _fuck, dude_.”

Magnus rested his face against Seth’s neck, looking thoughtful in the mirror.  “Can’t blame a guy for wanting to get his rocks off,” he mumbled through a smirk, holding Seth tight so that he could see his own cracked reflection, “Besides, you’re a bit of a slice, you gotta know that.”

His breath was hot on Seth’s bruised throat, and Seth shut his eyes with a resigned sigh.  He could not hide his fear from Magnus, practically stinking of it and falling limp in his grip, and Magnus pressed him hard to the porcelain sink stand.  “Shame on a fag for tryna run game on a fag,” he purred at Seth, gloating over him, and Seth struggled in his arms a moment, quickly held tight again by his captor.

“Ain’t a _fag_ \-- ”

“Tell that to your dick, honey.”

Seth’s gut kicked with guilt and shame at the pet name, and Magnus bent him over again, looking around the bathroom as he held Seth down.  “Your phone,” he observed coolly, looking into the light, and then spotted the photos, riling against his prisoner, the anger quivering over his skin. 

“Seth, hon, I think I need ta make some calls, about what’s gone on here,” he said, patting Seth’s cheek, then softly and to himself, “What to do with you...” as he looked around.

“Let me go?” tried Seth, gamely, and Magnus laughed down at him, leaning on his bent back.

“Right, and let you run straight back to Uncle Chuck?  You’re stayin’ right here, buddy.”

Seth’s face pushed into the bowl of the sink, the pill bottles and weed tin jammed into his cheek, and he scrunched his eyes closed in frustration as the belt cut against his wrists.  “Who the _fuck_ is Chuck?” he spat, his voice echoing on the porcelain, “Who the _fuck—_ ”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m _this_ close from whackin’ a gag on you, asshole.”  Magnus craned over him again, his curls falling against Seth’s back as he came close to his ear, his big scary face floating in his periphery vision.  “Say it with me, dickwits.  Chuck.  Chucky.  Ch-ch-ch...”

“ _Chuck??_   I told ya, I don’t know a...”

“Ch-ch... Char...?”

“Char...”  It dawned on Seth in one terrible swoop.  “Charles?  _Charles?_ ”

“Bingo, motherfucker.  Y’ ain’t just a pretty face, are you, Seth.”  Seth had not known that Chuck was short for Charles, and his mind played through like a broken screensaver as it tried to process this information with what had come before.  Magnus straightened, leaning against him idly.  “Can’t have ya haulin’ ass right back to your sugar daddy, Seth...  might make me jealous,” he concluded, and Seth barely twitched.

Magnus switched hands on Seth, holding up the pill bottle to look at as he kept the other man still.  Seth felt his sigh, heard him rattle the pills.  “Did you swallow any of these, you fucking moron?” he asked, holding it in Seth’s periphery, and he shook his head.  “Any at all?  No?  Good.  In enough shit as it is without adding a fucking body—” but he cut himself off, and his face appeared beside Seth again with a lascivious grin.

“ _Awh_ , Seth.  I’ve just had a _crazy_ idea.  What if... the _moral_ of this story is that you -- ” and he slowly stood Seth up again, holding him against his body, “-- you get just what you want... and that’s the biggest irony of all?  A monkey’s paw kind of deal?  You want drugs, Seth?  _Let’s do some drugs_.”

Seth’s stomach curled as he felt Magnus laugh against him, his hairy chest brushing his back as the man reached his arms around his front, opening the childproof cap and shaking pills out into his palm with his heavy chin resting against Seth’s temple doggishly.  “This is quetiapine... you know what that is?” he asked, and Seth shook his head silently, his ear brushed by Magnus’ long beard.

“It’s an anti-psychotic, Seth.  It’s for paranoia... gotta wonder, though, if _Dethklok_ is comin’ for my fuckin’ _dick_ now, if I _got_ something to _be_ paranoid about.  As a matter of fact instead of just, in my head... I been thinkin’ a lot about that lately.”  His voice strained with bitterness, his body tensing against Seth as he rolled the pills between his long fingers.  “But anyway... it’s a sedative.  You ain’t slept for two days?  Ya better be ready to be out for two weeks.  Shit like this – not this, but _like_ this – got me off some bad shit, buddy.  Outta some _bad_ places.  Your brother, he knew a bad, bad, awful creature, _Seth_.  This – it’s a fuckin’ dream compared to that.  Just a bad dream.  You’re gonna _let_ this be a bad dream – then I’ll work out where to go from there.  Okay?  Now open your mouth.”

He hooked Seth’s jaw in his hand, pulling it open.  Seth did not offer much resistance, though he shook in Magnus’ grip and rolled his eyes up as the man slid his fingers into his mouth, tasting the salty skin and the bitter bite of the pills as Magnus pushed them to the back of his tongue.  If he was careful here, thought Seth, moving his tongue against Magnus’ fingers, he could slip them beneath it perhaps, hide them in the spaces at the back of his jaw, but Magnus just tipped his head up higher and pushed the pills further, his long fingers choking Seth.

He could bite him, Seth thought, too late.  Magnus’ hand was pulled out and slammed over his face again, holding him tight against his body, blocking his airways as he held him.  “Sorry about this,” said Magnus, and Seth wheezed for air, his eyes wide and bloodshot back in the mirror before him, and then realised what was happening as Magnus held him securely.  Swallowed.  The pills went down.  Seth went down too, falling into Magnus’ arms and against his chest, then dropped, lowered to the tiles.  Not unconscious, the pills couldn’t work that fast, just – playing possum.  Playing shock.

It was something Seth had learned in fisticuffs with his brother.  Sure, Seth had hit back, he’d always hit back.  It kept him on his toes; he’d play with him.  _Put ‘em up, Pickles._   Dancing out of the way.  But Pickles hit because he was angry, and if you gave him fuel for it his violence increased in fractals, spiralling outwards to broken noses and uppercuts and thumbs aimed for the eye sockets.  Better to fold, and he would keep hitting even after you collapsed, sure, but soon enough – with no movement, no reaction – he’d give up.  Sit on your chest, swinging a few half-hearted blows at your face, then just hunch over there panting and crying with frustration.  The possum instinct was a last resort, but it had served Seth well in the past – when someone attacked not for food, but to play, your best bet was to be no fun at all.

Magnus towered over him, stark naked, and gave a grunt from on high.  He looked around, his mussed hair flicking over his shoulders, and then pulled Seth by his bound arms to the sink.  Working quickly, he freed Seth’s wrists and pulled them around the free-standing porcelain column, the bowl itself attached at the wall, and bound them together again behind it.  The belt was pulled tight, cutting, with its tail trailing on the floor, the silver belt buckle gleaming in the discarded phone’s light where it lay.

Magnus regarded Seth, bound and watching him back in a doeish way, and picked up the dethfone, sitting back on the tiles before him as he inspected it.  “Your wife sent you a message,” he observed, and Seth arched an eyebrow until Magnus looked back up at him.  “Sorry, I can’t check it without the password.  Wanna enlighten me?”

“Huh,” said Seth.  Magnus smiled gently at him, cockishly.

“I got all night, honey.”  He played with the phone, examining its spikes and blades and tutting, then drawing close to Seth, illuminating him with the flashlight.  “You’re gonna run outta battery if you leave this on.”

Seth glared at him, his elbows hunched forward against the restraint.  Magnus smiled and moved closer, the light filling Seth’s face.

“Tell me the passcode, Seth.”

“Nyeh,” Seth said, squinting, and his throat still felt raw.  The drugs had not started to work.

Magnus leaned closer, holding the light in front of Seth’s eye.  “Tell me – ”  But Seth crammed it shut, wincing.  If he could wait it out, maybe the drugs would knock him out before Magnus got the code out of him – but then the _last_ thing he wanted was to be unconscious around a _faggot._   Stay awake.  Fake sleep.  That was... possible, right.

Magnus’ big hand settled on his face, his finger and thumb dragging on Seth’s brow and cheek to pull his eye open against his will.  “ _Fuck, fuck!_ ”  The eyelids were pried apart to blazing white, searing against his retina, and Seth bit back on another tear as it dripped down to Magnus’ thumb, making it slip and release the eyelid again.  “ _Fuck!_ Okay!  It’s fuckin’, Project Mayhem, bro!  All lowercase, no spaces.  The ‘o’ is a zero.  Fuck!”

Magnus pulled the phone away and stood up, but looked at Seth with distant amusement.  “Sticking feathers up your ass does not make you a chicken, Seth,” he said with a satisfied smirk, unlocking the phone.  “Your wife says... heart heart three equals greater than... dollar sign, dollar sign.  _Capisce?_ ”

Seth could not imagine this, and he frowned at Magnus.  “Huh?”  But Magnus paid him no mind and turned away.

“Seems like a nice little lady.  Succinct.  I like that.” Seth watched as Magnus prowled into the next room, the screen light illuminating his face as he retrieved Seth’s shirt from the floor.  He returned, smiling with his face lit up from below like a skull, and whipped the shirt in the air so it straightened.

“Now,” he said, standing with a cocked hip as he held the phone close, “I’m just gonna go ahead and delete these photos for you.”  Seth watched resentfully as he did so, showing him the photo album afterwards with the photos gone.  “And then you’re gonna haveta stay still for me.  Seth?”

“Yeah, Mag,” said Seth hoarsely, barely looking up at him, and Magnus crouched next to him with the shirt stretched between his hands.

“Stay with me, lil’ buddy.”

It beat Seth how Magnus could sound so gentle and understanding while carrying out what had to be a felony at least, and he stayed silent, trembling with bile and cowardice, as Magnus pulled the shirt across his mouth and wiggled it, taut, until it gagged him, tying it securely behind his head before retrieving the phone.  He stood back from Seth, regarding him contentedly as Seth scowled up at him, and smiled warmly as he twisted his goatee in his fingers.

“God, this looks _familiar_.  I’m having a _distinct_ experience of déjà vu, Seth,” he gloated, the lightning flashing up his naked body, all wiry muscle, bone and hair, as he smirked over Seth.  “Now smile,” he said, and raised the phone, snapping a photo of his prisoner bound and gagged with a blaze of the flash.

Possum or not, this was humiliating.  Seth let his head loll as he watched Magnus turn away, flicking through the photos on the phone as he retrieved his own clothes and began to assemble himself, bursting out with laughter with his briefs halfway up his legs again.  He pulled them up the whole way before turning back to Seth, holding up the phone:  “Is this you?”

It was Seth, in all his sharps, the white suit, the popped collars, with a famous football player.  Seth scowled at his amusement, gave a slow nod like _obviously_ , and Magnus jeered at him, eyes wide in the light that filtered through the bathroom window, through the storm that battered outside.  “Did you _dress up for me?_ ”

Seth glared at him.

“Oh, _God._   That is _gay._   That is _mega gay._ ”  Magnus sprung back on his heel, beaming viciously.  “You _really_ wanted a prick down your throat, didn’t ya, faggot?”

When Magnus said it, the word burned.  Seth flinched back onto himself, thought he could feel the drug.  Wished for a white knight, for Charles to swoop in, hooded men, police.  Once, outside of Dethklok’s protection, Seth would have fled at the sound of sirens.  Now – he’d gone soft.  Lonely, soft.  Prison had made him soft.  Marriage had made him soft.  His chin touched his collarbone, his breath heavy, and he watched Magnus under his brow as the guy laughed at his phone and dressed himself.  Patted his waistband after his belt before he remembered, laughing again.  _God._

Seth thought, if he could get himself into this, then he could get himself out again.  No cops, no klokateers, no gay ass managers.  He was better than his brother, _harder_ than his brother.  Here were the odds, stacked against him: the drugs in his body, the bond at his wrists, the gag on his mouth, the giant one-eyed gay Jesus pocketing his phone and bending to scruff Seth’s hair roughly as he waited for his own mobile phone call, held to his ear, to go through.  “Hey, buddy.  Yeah, I know it’s late.  You know I wouldn’t call without a reason.”

Seth watched Magnus prowl back into the bedroom to talk, sitting himself on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on.  “You won’t _believe_ who I met tonight.  The brother.  Yeah.  Nah, you got the one before, man.  Oh, he’s a bit _tied up right now_ but... heh.”

Magnus looked up at him through the gloom, then reached across to hook the bathroom door and pull it closed on Seth, muffling his words.  Seth’s eyes opened wide in the dark, a flash of lightning illuminating the bathroom.  Had Magnus trusted him that much to stay put?  Oh... rookie mistake.  Seth had met cops like that.  But here was an opportunity.  Damned if he wasn’t going to take it.

As soon as he could hear Magnus settling into his conversation, Seth got to work.  First things first: he wiggled his legs underneath him, from sprawling to a kneeling position, the belt straining and jagging against his wrists as he tried to heave his weight against it.  No luck – he fell back on his bony ass again.  Okay, okay, this was gonna take some Houdini shit.  Seth knew how to get out of hogties, but then the pylon of the sink prevented him from simply slipping his arms around beneath him.  He tallied what he still had: two legs, a gagged mouth.  The first, the _real_ first thing to do, then, was to add to that inventory.

Seth’s heart pounded heavy in his chest as he writhed in his bonds, raising his leg up over his shoulder experimentally, his bare body crushed against the cold porcelain of the sink pylon.  Seth was a flexible guy, could achieve things of urban legend with the elasticity of his spine, twisting like a ferret, but he’d never tried this exactly.  Ducking his head, he managed to catch his foot behind it, the sock dragging against his short hair.  Okay.  Now just bring it down over the nape of his neck, nudging the knot with his ankle then poking it upwards with his toes, until he got his foot to slip under and could stretch it, hard against his face with a subdued, wheezing grunt.

By the time his socked toes popped back out from under it, springing back against the pylon and striking it with dim clunk, the gag fell harmlessly around Seth’s neck, stretched out of shape.

He froze, heart pounding inside him like it would sound through the tiles, but Magnus had not heard him, his voice calm beyond the door.  _Yeah, well... I had to think on my feet, hey.  Yeah.  Chasing photos!  Of what?  Of Dethklok... No._   Seth wondered if he was a little deaf, which would follow with all the metal, and slowly lowered his leg, his tendons twanging with the awful stretch.  But it wasn’t over just yet.

Seth got back onto his knees and looked over his shoulder at the belt.  It was a secure, purpose-tied bond, the tail sticking out and trailing on the floor.  He couldn’t snap it, doubled over, leather – the buckle itself was probably the weakest point, and he couldn’t smash that without alerting Magnus.  But perhaps, if he twisted his body at the middle just so...

Seth caught the tail of the belt between his teeth, smothering his grunts of effort as his head was twisted under his jutting elbow.  With the strain, he almost pulled on it – but somehow, by some astronomical, adrenaline and sedative fuelled act of art, managed to hold his position and twist – push instead.  Weaving the tail back into the buckle, his fingers searching to help it along as the inner loops slacked, and then pulling his hands from the bonds.  His back clicking as he straightened, panting.  He’d done it.  Freedom.  His fingers wiggling before him, a memory of Molly chiding him, catching him with matches, burns on his hands.  _Idle hands are the Devil’s playthings, Sethy!_   But hell, ma, those green eyes hadn’t come from nowhere upstairs.

Seth tried to stand up.  His brain sloshed.  _Jeeesus_.  That was something.  He hadn’t even felt the drug come on, and yet when he moved, everything lurched downwards.  He pulled on the shirt and steadied himself against the sink, stilling as he listened for Magnus’ voice.

_I am not projecting.  Dude.  I am **not** projecting!_

He hadn’t noticed.  With shuffling steps, Seth moved towards the bathroom door, laying his hand on the cold metal knob.  When he moved, the drug seemed to lift, and while his senses were still cottoning at the edges he could think straighter than when he’d first risen.

_That’s a low fucking blow, buddy._

Seth locked the door.

The catch made a soft click as it snapped into place, but that alone was too much.  Seth heard his captor whisper, _What the fuck... one sec,_ and the doorknob shake, jamming against the lock as Magnus tried to open it.  _I’m gonna have to call you back, buddy.  Yeah, I know, but it’s kind of a situation.  Okay.  Gimme twenty.  Yeah, bye._   The phone beeped off, and Magnus whispered, _You little fuck_... inches from Seth’s ear, separated only by the door, and then threw his whole weight at it shoulder first, the crash shuddering the door on its hinges.

 _GOD DAMN IT, YA LIL, SHIT WEASEL!  LET ME IN THERE!_   Bang.   Seth took a step back from the quivering door, trembling as Magnus slammed against it.  _I’LL FUCKING SKIN YOU!_ Bang.  Seth glances around desperately for his next move, his wide eyes drawn back to the knob as Magnus shook it madly from the other side.  First possibility: the window.  But even standing on the edge of the bath Seth was too short to reach its sill, even if he could have squeezed his gut out of it.  Okay.  New plan.

Magnus threw his body against the door again.  Seth had a thought, a crazy thought.  But he hadn’t gotten to where he was today by being conservative.

Or right now, even.

Magnus was pounding on the door with his fists.  _You fucking WORM, LET ME IN... LET ME THE FUCK IN, RIGHT NOW, or I will FUCK YOUR ASS UP!_  Bang, another shoulder slam, a pause as Magnus caught his breath.  _Oh, little boy, I’m gonna eat your ass alive.  Open this fucking door right now.  RIGHT NOW.  JESUS FUCK!_

Bang.  Guy wasn’t making much progress.  Seth moved closer to the door, swaying, and put out his hand to the trembling knob, holding his breath.

_CHOKE YOU DEAD.  CHOKE YOU FUCKING DEAD BOY, MURDER, I’M GONNA FUCKING **MURDER** YOU, **SETH**._

This time, when the man stopped yelling to draw his breath and prepare to launch himself at the door again, Seth turned the lock and pulled it open.  Just in time, with Magnus’ weight carrying him through the door and slamming him onto the tiled floor with a thud and a sickening crack, and Seth danced back through into the bedroom.  He just caught the older man shuddering as he hauled himself onto his elbows, groaning and clutching his head with the open shirt he’d pulled on over his shoulders hiked up on his waist, before he pulled the door shut.

That wouldn’t hold him long – no lock on this side.  He could hear the Cuban heels clomping on the tiles as he got to his feet.  Fuck, fuck – and Seth knew he was in for a fight if he wanted his phone back, if he wanted that cool five million.  And he knew he’d have to run.  If he had to run – if Magnus was going to break things, and he was going to break things – Seth needed – first, he needed – _shoes._

Seth grabbed his still-laced sneakers from the floor where Magnus had abandoned them, dragging them on hastily as he heard Magnus give a soul-bending bellow of rage like a stuck bull.  Time out.  He barely had time to launch off as the guy burst out of the door, felt something hit his back as he fled out of the bedroom, bouncing off him and across the living room floor with a rattle.  Magnus had ditched the pill bottles at him, the head cleaner rolling over the loop pile ahead of him as Seth immediately tripped on the cables that ran from the television to the projector and went down face-first, eating fucking carpet.

He heard Magnus’ footfalls hit the ground behind him as he scrambled to his feet, the carpet burns blistering sharp on his forearms, and sprung over the back of the couch before Magnus could lay a hand on him.  “ _WORM!!!_ ” screamed Magnus, vaulting over the couch back after him as Seth tumbled to the floor and squirmed under the coffee table on his belly, laying there in the dark with the TV flashing over him a moment to catch his breath.

“FUCK.  FUUUUUUUCK.  YOU FUCKING, _PIECE_ OF _SHIT!!!_ ”

Magnus hit the floor next to the table and flattened himself, but it was instantly obvious there was no way his broad shoulders would fit.  Seth lay partly on his side, his cheek on the rough carpet as his heart thudded within him and he planned his next move.  He needed a weapon – then he needed the phone.  Then he was done.  You wouldn’t see him for dust, or like, fuckin’, puddles in this rain.  But one step at a time.

His heart just about stopped when he felt Magnus’ fingertips skim past his bare arm with a swipe, his terrifying grimace pressed up against the gap between the table and the floor like a killing dog as he reached for Seth.  “You fucking.... _bastard!_   I’ll fucking decapitate you and fuck the bloody stump, _fuck!_ ” he snarled under the table, “Get the fuck out of there or you’ll - you’ll fucking _regret_ it, for fucking real, man!”

Seth shot him a jeering smile, lit up by the flickering images on the television.  “Nuh,” he gasped, grinning with a frightened sparkle to his eyes.  “What the _fuck,_ dude!  You were so chill before, what the _fuck,_ huh.  You _need_ all that pharma shit, you’re _crazy_.”

“Crazy!  _Crazy!_ ”  Magnus clawed desperately at the space between them, his shoulder jammed in the gap.  “I’ll show you _fucking_ _crazy!  Fuck you!_ ”  His arm was quickly withdrawn, righting himself, and Seth saw his shadow disappear – then his boots clomp overhead as he crossed on top of the heavy coffee table.  He lifted the unit off at the end, moving it to the floor, and Seth jumped in fear as the music started up again, blaring inches from his ear.  A sample from some old Samurai film, a traditional orchestral strings and biwa piece jarring in the scene as Seth squeezed himself in the gap away from where Magnus was, cut off by a loud voice sample:

 _千々岩 求女は私に知り合いの男でした_ 。

And then launching directly into the thrash CD, Magnus’ guitar licks tearing through the cold living room air with a stillness and hate pressed into every string on the long-abandoned recording.  Magnus had pressed something on the apparatus – the songs seemed to play a few seconds, then jump to another spot on the CD, or loop or jag or reverse, and the effect was terrifying in its randomness.

Magnus’ body hit the carpet shoulder-first at the other end of the table, and Seth squealed as his powerful hand shot out under the table and snared his arm.  The fingers curled into his skin as Magnus started to drag him out, grin crooked and mean in the gap, and Seth felt like his own heart would poison him with blood as he fought to rip it from his arm with his other hand.  He yelped as he managed to pry one of Magnus’ fingers off him, bending it back, but it didn’t stop anything – just dug the nails deeper into his arm, pulling him along the carpet.  Should have gone for a weapon before he went to hide, fuck!  Well.  Seth wasn’t defenceless.  Fights with Pickles had never been clean.

Seth bit the hand.  Magnus’ hand was so skinny he could feel the bones shift under his teeth, the skin graze under his incisors as the man ripped it out and howled in anger.  Then the blazing light of the television as Magnus lifted the table, upturning it sideways onto the floor with a roar.  His own voice blaring from the sound system behind him as the television cast a jagged blue aura on his back:

_MANKIND HAS GOT TO KNOW HIS LIMITATIONS!_

Seth started to scramble, but was not fast enough to avoid the beatle boot rammed into his ribs from above.  The kick swept him into the foot of the couch, and Magnus’ form lurched above him as he struck again and again, the boot striking Seth’s gut and winding him like a hoof nailed in his belly.  He could hear the leather pound his skin as his shirt rode up, Magnus’ grunts of effort, and pulled his senses together just enough to wrap his arms around the boot as it came for his collarbone.  Magnus, who knew no moderation and had been kicking with his entire weight, was pulled straight off his other foot and fell backwards into the wide-screen television.

Seth scrambled to his feet as Magnus went down, his brain sleeting sideways under the strange drug as he looked aside and saw Magnus clambering from the wreck, the plasma screen bolted with mad, jigsaw bars that quivered around the silhouette crack of his body.  They stood opposite each other a moment, frozen, their bodies heaving with breath and following one another’s gaze for their next move.  Weapon, thought Seth.  He needed a weapon.  But here he was, standing in his briefs and sneakers, facing a fully dressed man – bigger and stronger and faster than he was.

Magnus looked at Seth, standing poised in his briefs and sneakers, shirt and long socks, his smudged eyeliner, his dank auburn hair sticking to his forehead, his pale skin scratched and bruised and lit up white in the TV light and a flash through the living room curtains from the storm outside, and saw the MTV Headbangers Ball, 1992, collapsed on his dealer’s couch in LA with his girlfriend lying on top of him, forced to watch as her favourite band, Snakes N’ Barrels, were the reigning act.  And he was, for a second, overcome.  For a second.  Three seconds.  Just long enough.

Seth bolted towards the kitchen.  He didn’t know the _history_ , he didn’t get shit except how necessary it was for him to get his hands around a weapon right that moment.  He sprang over the overturned table, Magnus clearing it in pursuit in a single stride behind him, and turned sharply into the kitchen with his sneaker on the linoleum.  Weapon, weapon.  He was pulling open cabinets, nothing, _nothing_ , a toaster on the bench, _nothing_ , even as Magnus skidded around the corner in his Cuban heels and picked him up.

Actually just straight picked him up.  Seth’s slurring brain barely understood what was happening as Magnus grabbed him, one arm around his chest, the other hooking his knee, and lifted him onto his broad shoulders, then chucked him across the counter on his back.  Seth sprawled there, his head hanging off the edge and spinning with the drug, but fought viciously to raise it only to see Magnus pulling a kitchen knife from the knife block.  Oh, _fuck!_   Why hadn’t he seen that?!

A huge hand grabbed him by the throat, dragging him out of his haze, and Magnus towered over him, raising the knife to stab as the stereo repeated itself:

 _千々岩 求女は私に知り合いの男でした_ 。

Seth kicked him in the face.

“Fuck!”  Magnus jerked back as the heel of Seth’s sneaker clipped his chin, releasing the man to roll off the counter and back onto the carpet on the other side.  He heard Magnus kick the counter viciously, swearing at the top of his lungs, _“FUCK!  FUCK!!!  I’LL GUT YOU!”_ as he lifted his battered body from the floor, dragging himself back towards the TV.  He still needed a weapon, he _needed_ a knife.

There were twin thuds from above, and Seth barely registered the shadow climbing onto the counter after him until Magnus was pouncing down  onto him, landing with his feet on either side of Seth’s body and staggering until he dropped to his knees, crushing one of Seth’s arms under his weight, too sluggish to move out of the way.  The knife raised and glinting in the jagging television light, the lightning from outside.  As the powerful hand came back down on Seth’s throat, pinning him to the carpet, the scattered memories of the brutal facefuck mere hours before flashed through Seth’s swimming brain.  But now the shadow that pinned him, held him tight beneath the jaw with his hand grasping helplessly at the open front of its shirt, blurred in his vision, streaked and swallowed away.  And the cock was a knife, coming down now to rest the cold, killing blade against his throat just above the crook of Magnus’ thumb and forefinger as they crushed into his nerves.

And he could have killed him, right then, his vision washing, the hand clutching against his wrist unable to get a hold for its palms wet with terror.  Could have cut his throat.  But Seth knew he was still alive, his throat still unopened and just squeezed tight, Magnus panting over him, dripping sweat over his body.

“That’s it... go down, honey.  Go down,” breathed Magnus, watching Seth’s face closely as his eyes started to roll, his eyelids drooping.  “You enjoying that?  That’s it, yeah.  Go down.”

And then he knew. 

Magnus wasn’t trying to kill him at all.  If he was, he’d had his chance a dozen times over.  Flat on his back and with his blood pumping the drug quick through his body, as Seth’s breath returned so the Seroquel welled up to swallow him, pulling him down in hypnagogic swoons as Magnus’ terrifying visage blurred and lurched above him.  The thunder shook the house this time, a bare two Mississipis from the flashing storm.  The blade rested cool against the skin of his neck, held there with tenderness, the steel warming against his body as Magnus’ knee crushed his elbow, sending it into detached static against his slushed brain.

“ _Sleep, little baby, close your eyes..._ ”  Seth’s throat seized against Magnus’ hands as the motherfucker sang at him, his rough voice scratching the lullaby though the gentleness with which it was meant was not entirely absent.  His hand clawed at Magnus’ wrist, nails digging into the soft spot at its underside but finding only gnarled scar.  God, why did that sound _familiar?_   Suddenly he was missing snatches of music, from the stereo, Magnus’ mouth moving but no words.  Seth could feel his body convulsing under Magnus’ locked grip, his hand trembling against the wrist that pinned him.  And he was going down - - he couldn’t _go down_ \- -

Faintly, at the edge of his cottonball brain, Seth heard a sound.  A chiptune, an old Nokia, somewhere far away and smothered by the grinding music, the choking.  Magnus sat up on top of him, removing the knife but not the hand from his throat.  And, “Oh,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.  “Shit.”

Seth made a strangled sound, croaking under his hand, and Magnus just sat straight, listening for the ring.  He paused, lifting his hand off Seth’s throat to a dying gasp, and pinched the bridge of his nose as Seth’s weak hand fell away helplessly from where it had been holding his wrist.  “Oh, fucking... shit, fuck,” said Magnus, and then looked down at Seth, trapped under his thighs.

“Shit!”  He brought his fist down on the carpet next to Seth’s head.  “Shit!  Man, I’m sorry, I gotta take this...” 

Magnus raked his hand down his slick face, cursing himself and then cracking a mad grin.  “Now don’t you go anywhere!” he joked, and pushed himself up with a hand, the knife held tight in his other fist as he abandoned Seth and dashed for the bedroom to answer the phone.

Seth just lay there a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the thrash and the storm outside.  “What the fuck,” he said, finally, and just enunciating the words lifted him another step from the fog.  After all, he took after his brother – and took the same things as his brother.  It took more than 100mg of quetiapine to bring him down.

The lightning flashed through the room again, the thunder close behind as Seth slowly rose onto his elbows.  He was not going to have sucked dick for nothing.  Not tonight, motherfucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneks illustrated this chapter with its sister fic/prequel, Black Butterfly, in [gorgeous watercolours](https://sneks-n-bickles.tumblr.com/post/161920027376/hey-uh-can-i-get-a-refund-mordland-wrote-the) and you should take a look...


	6. Get Got

It took Seth too long to peel his drugged body off the floor, the skin of his neck throbbing with the abuse it had suffered in the last few hours, stiff and swollen around his gulps and heavy breaths that seemed to echo within him, plunge deep into his grazed chest.  But Magnus was taking his time, distracted by his  _very important_  call and trusting Seth's punished body to stay put.  A mistake many cops had made before.

Stupid, it tugged a sneer onto Seth's face as he staggered towards the kitchen and the knife block.  Stupid old man, a fucked up rocker who'd mashed his brain with excess.  Just like his brother.  And stupid, gay, distracted by Seth's body, unable to make a ruthless throat cut or smash his beautiful face, and so allowing him rope he never would have usually.  Like hitting a woman, kind of, thought Seth, who was not particularly empathetic to that reluctance.  I mean, it really didn't matter who you were hitting, fag or a chick or normal or whatever.  Seth considered himself a feminist like that, yo.

He took all the time Magnus gave him.  Drew the biggest knife from the block, relishing the whisper of its blade, then thought better of it and selected a small paring knife instead, good for jamming between the ribs or the bones of the arm, to stab, and a style of weapon Seth was more accustomed to.  After all, he had no use for scare tactics like Magnus did, no hesitance - the best scare tactic in the world, thought Seth, was to be truly dangerous.  Without Magnus' size and terrifying features, it fell upon Seth to prove himself dangerous rather than rely on big knives and lullabies.  Simply stabbing the dude in the side would be incapacitating enough to throw off his fucking power play, and if he could bring the guy down, then all power - and camera phones - to Seth.

He needed something that could keep Magnus at bay, though.  As soon as the call was over, the bloodthirsty freak was going to come bolting around the corner, kitchen knife in hand, and try to take him down before he could get a shiv in.  Half Magnus' size, Seth queasily imagined being tossed up on the counter again and dissected, like a cat flipping its prey into the air.  Playing with him.  Seth snorted in disgust, returned the knife and checked the cabinets, creeping silent-footed in his sneakers on the linoleum.

And then he saw it.  The perfect weapon, if he could just find a power point - and there was one beside the toaster, in the corner of the kitchenette.  All right, maybe  _perfect_  would have been a semi-automatic, and maybe half-way to perfect would have been an electric roast saw.  But the handheld tri-blade pro-line multi-speed stick blender in pearl would at least keep Magnus at arm's length.  Seth plugged it into the wall and cornered himself against the benches, testing it to a shrill buzz.  Imagine this sucker on three blending through the middle of the freak's chest, just biting through flesh, popping out the other side with Seth's slender hand coated in dark gore, the collapsing hollow of his chest pressing down hot around his forearm.

Eugh.  Something weirdly erotic about that.  He guessed that was the trade-off for fucking someone before you tried to kill them, it kinda reprogrammed how you thought of them.  Now Seth had never really appreciated all the death metal bullshit his brother was into, but he was beginning to, y'know, get it.  You know...

Well, at least Magnus would be into it too.  Would probably get off on it.  You could just  _see_  that guy being a hardcore masochist, huh.

But the blender had a good weight in his hand, a good vibration like a top shelf LELO against his palm as he slid the speed button up and down with the pad of his thumb.  Yes, Seth felt good about this, catching his breath against the bench as the lightning flashed over him again.  One Mississippi, two - and he barely reached the third S.  The thunder crashed around the house.  The eye of the storm was getting nearer.

He stiffened, his chest tightening in fight or flight response, as he heard Magnus' footsteps round the corner, his voice coming into earshot as he chatted casually on the mobile - about Seth, certainly about Seth, as “Australia,” was said, “Yeah, Australia.  So I can't just –”

Seth's heart sat in his throat like a rat in the mouth of its hole as Magnus gave a brusque sigh, stepping into the lounge.  “Yeah, well.  I'll see what I can do.  Yeah yeah. I'll... deal with him.”  The shadow that formed him, silhouetted against the distant glow of the storm through the curtains on the other side of the room, looked around after his captured prey, then spotted Seth - his smile and dead eye glinting in the broken TV light - and chuckled at what he saw, low in his gullet.

“Oh, man.  You're not gonna believe this, pal,” he said with a delighted grin, eyeing up Seth as he drew the knife and approached across the linoleum with slow, careful, stalking steps.  “Little shit's got the KitchenAid.  Gonna straight up  _Reanimator_  my ass.  I mean, you gotta admire the, ehh, acumen or whatever, y’know what I mean.”

Seth's skin crawled bare as Magnus eyed him up, that hungry smile curled around his thick lips and raising his gaunt cheeks, and a grimace quirked involuntarily onto Seth's face as he felt that cold burn of arousal up the back of his thighs, tightening his grip on the blender and whirring it as he thrust it threateningly towards Magnus.  Fucked up.  That was fucked up.  Maybe he had that cat brain disease that made you into kinky shit or something.  Maybe all he truly wanted was for Amber to fuck him up the ass, and he saw something of her in Magnus' dark hair, his dark eyes.  Or maybe he was just fucked up, like Pickles was fucked up.  Whatever.  He hated it.

Magnus smiled into the phone and said, “Clever boy,” in an almost sing-song voice, “Resourceful,” then lowered the mobile so he could speak directly to Seth.  He stood just out of reach of the hysterically whirring blender, the whine of it increasing with Seth's fear every time he teetered nearer.  Depth perception was not Magnus' strong suit.  As Magnus held the kitchen knife to his own cheek playfully, pressing the skin but not enough to cut, Seth could feel his bruised throat throbbing hard with his own heartbeat, caught in the swelling and heaving in his pigeon chest.

“Sit tight, Sethy!  Darling.  I'll just be a sec,” he purred, smiling against the blade, and Seth could feel its coldness on his own face in sympathy as he saw his reflection in the polished steel, wild-eyed, bruised and streaked with makeup, his outstretched hand trembling with the swoon of the slow drug.

Magnus raised the phone to his ear again as he stepped away, never quite turning his back on Seth as he left him - tethered at the end of the cord, unable to follow without losing his weapon - and moved away.  Seth lurched at the end of the cord as Magnus stepped around him, chatting casually as he pulled open a cutlery drawer and rifled through it, coming up with a handful of steel:  “Huh?  Yeah, I called him darling... well, newsflash, asshole, I _am_ a fuckin' - y'know what.  Actually?  That's an entirely unprofessional question and - and I ain't answerin'.  Right.  No.  I'll do what I like.  It doesn't fuckin' matter anyway, since your royal majesty shot down that fuckin' plan.”

Seth held his breath as he followed the other man with his eyes, Magnus watching the lightning through the window a moment, his voice distant, private, beneath the whir of Seth's blender.  “So that's my fuckin’ business, bucko.  _No_ , I am _not_.  I don't even think of the little cunt.  Right.  I'll sort this out.  Bye."

The Nokia made a soft beep as Magnus hung up, then he shot one agonising, dead-eye glare at Seth, picked up the knife block, and strode out into the hall.

The front door slammed.

Seth stood in silence against the crazed loop of thrash metal on the stereo, the lightning reflected in his wide eyes as he waited for something, anything, to happen.  His hand shook with the weight of the blender, whirring in his palm.  Where the fuck had he gone, where the fuck – what was outside?  Maybe – a gun, in the truck?  That’d make him shut up soon enough, fuckin’ – even Seth was a mere mortal against a gun, whether the dude wielding it wanted to kill him or not.  He panted sharply through his gritted teeth, staring at the curtains illuminated by the streetlight outside, hoping to pick out a silhouette.  But nothing.  Just light.  Thrash.  And then silence.

Seth’s eyes peeled wider as the blender gave a whine of deceleration and fell dead in his hand.  “Fuck!  Fuck!” he spluttered, turning to the power point to switch it on and off, pull the plug out and jam it back in with his hand shaking so madly he scratched the pins over the plastic, but the room fell into a heady silence around him, the whitenoise rain, the space left by the dormant electronics.

Magnus had pulled the fuse.  His weapon was useless.  The horror slithered up through Seth’s body like a knife through his belly.  He heard the door open again.  It was over, by god, it was gonna be over.

Seth threw himself at the still-open cutlery drawer, dropping the blender as he lunged for it, his hands groping blindly at the forks and spoons and chopsticks and potato peelers and – and no knives.  _No knives_.  With a scream of fear and frustration, Seth pulled the cutlery tray out of the drawer and tipped it out onto the floor with a racket of falling steel, chucking the plastic tray aside as he dropped to the floor and started to chase the utensils across the linoleum, praying that the next one he grabbed would be a blade.

Magnus’ bootsteps sounded on the linoleum, and “ _No!_ ” squealed Seth, face down, butt up, clutching a salad tosser in desperation.  “No, no, no!  Please, motherfuckin’, God, _please!_ ”  His voice sounded not his own, like his mother’s, as he trembled uncontrollably down to his skeleton, his eyes rolling up to the huge shadow that stood over him, its clothes dripping onto the lino from the pouring rain outside, a knife as big as his forearm glinting in its huge hand.

Seeing Magnus’ dead eye fixed on him, Seth curled up instantly, rolling on his back amongst the cutlery like a pillbug, and squealed: “Aiiiiiie _eeeeeeehrrr!_ ”

Magnus cocked a pitying eyebrow, and raised a boot to stomp down Seth – snarling, “Moron,” – but Seth was too fast for him, squirming out of the path of his kick and letting Magnus’ heel come pounding down on an upturned soup spoon, sliding on the lino as he teetered for his balance again, standing over Seth’s body like a clotheshorse.  Seth, quickly seeing the danger of being straddled again and the knife coming towards him, slid out from between the huge guy’s legs and rolled onto his front, scrambling to his feet – stood a blink in shock at having escaped – and then launched himself at Magnus’ back, one foot scrabbling against the base of his spine as he climbed the guy and brought the stick of the salad tosser down against the back of his neck with a whip of plastic before the broad hands came down hard on his hairy calves, pressed around Magnus’ middle, and squeezed the nails into his skin.

“Jesus _fuck,_ ” yelled Magnus, straightening, as Seth got a handful of his hair and wrapped it around his fist, dragging on it hard as he beat the salad tosser against the guy’s cheekbone with a quick wrist.  His head spun with the drug and vertigo as Magnus staggered with his weight, hiking him up a second with his nails scratching up his bare calves, and then lurching backwards to ram Seth at full speed in reverse into the counter, the lip of it slamming into Seth’s middle back while Magnus’ waist crushed into his balls.

Magnus released Seth and escaped to a pathetic wail as the pain shuddered through him and he slid down the counter, clutching his balls through his briefs in his descent.  He didn’t have a chance to reach the floor before Magnus had grabbed him by the front of the shirt by the same hand that held the knife, hauling him to his feet and then swiftly backhanding him into the adjacent counter. 

“Go down, you little cunt!” snarled Magnus, grabbing a handful of Seth’s short hair as he reeled and dragging him backwards, the knife appearing at his throat again as his sneakers scrabbled for purchase on the spilt cutlery.  Seth could taste blood, his vision blurred, and his breathing was shrill as his hands fluttered near the knife to pull it away – then got a grip on Magnus’ hand even as he pulled back on Seth’s hair, arching his throat up against the blade.

Seth thought fast; he limped his body entirely to fall back into Magnus’ arms, the man struggling to catch him as all the resistance dropped out of his captive.  In the instant it took Magnus to recalculate, Seth had twisted from his grip, ramming an elbow into his gut on the way down to a satisfying grunt of pain and catching the man’s shirt in his groping hands to throw him, unsteadied, into the counter.  Magnus lurched into it with his shoulder, the cabinet shaking under his weight, and Seth saw his chance as the knife was coming up again.

He stooped for the discarded blender in the moment of calm as Magnus sized him up again, eyeing Magnus with a deranged smirk as his hand closed around the narrow neck of the machine.  “Oh, I’m gonna bring you down, huh!” Seth sneered, and for a moment he sounded just like his brother, and then he swung the blender like a club straight at Magnus’ big ugly face.

The impact when he struck was so satisfying it brought a bright, mad smile to Seth’s face.  Like pumping iron, like getting a girl to cum whimpering, there was so much power inherent in feeling Magnus’ give way to his blow.  But the blender was so heavy that Seth staggered to follow his strike, enough to let Magnus rear back up, a bead of blood pooling black in his nostril as he flexed his shoulder and the knife came flashing for Seth, barely deflected by the steel of the blender.  As Magnus struck again and again with the speed of a rattlesnake, Seth – desperately twisting the appliance with the lead jerking in the air between them like a hangman’s rope, his stance backed slowly back across the kitchen by Magnus’ sheer aggression – realised that his opponent’s slashes were aimed for his fingers, barely missing each time until finally the knife hit its mark, scoring shallow into the back of Seth’s hand to a tragic scream and the blender falling to the linoleum with a clunk.

Magnus hunched over himself as he prowled towards Seth, the knife blade flashing with the lightning outside as Seth staggered backwards, clutching his wounded hand to his chest.  “It’s over, Seth!” he yapped triumphantly, grinning with the blood from his nose black down his top lip, and Seth could feel the slit blistering open on his hand, the blood warm on his skin.  “Give it up!”

“No!” squealed Seth, lurching backwards as Magnus swiped for his chest, flicking blood off the blade, and Seth lost his footing for a frantic moment as his sneaker came down on a teaspoon, then regaining it.  “No no _no!_   I am _not!_   This ain’t happenin’!  Man!  Fuck!  I did not suck your god damn wiener to get dropped in the fuckin’, y’know, Everglades or whatever, have fuckin’ flamingos pick my fuckin’ brains out!  It’s not fuckin’ fair!” he shrieked, and Magnus held a moment just to pout at him.

“Life ain’t fair, darling.  Give it up,” he replied, his words dripping derision, but hovered just a moment, standing nearly on his toes before he lashed out at Seth again.  The words froze Seth like a blow to the fucking head, _life ain’t fair_ , his eyes locked open at Magnus.  _No.  No._ Seth got what he wanted.  Seth always got what he wanted.  Standing here, half-naked and tired with his head swimming, unarmed against a guy twice his size with a knife longer than his own dick, Seth faced the reality that he may not get what he wanted.  No photos.  No money.  No phone.  Just a sore ass and some fucked up bruises.

Magnus gave an experimental swipe right in front of Seth’s blanked eyes, and he came to and jumped back with a yawp of fear, his body shaking uncontrollably and juddering where he stood, whipping his head around in search of something to save him with every step backwards.  Nothing, there was nothing at all.  Seth's heel hit the carpet, backed out of the kitchenette by Magnus' lurching in his direction threateningly, not even slashing at him.  His emotions, his terror, his perceived failure, boiled up in him like a thick, hot syrup and threatened him with fat tears gathering in his eyes as he clutched his burning wound to his breast, his fingers twitching with his tremors. 

"Give me my _phone!_   You _asshole!_ " he yelped at Magnus, his voice high and hysterical, and Magnus fended off a lurch for it with a slash that Seth felt cut the air beside his skin.  "No, fuck!  Give it to me!"

"So what?  You can call the cops on my ass?  Jesus, how fucking stupid do you think I am?" snapped Magnus back, whisking another slash right in front of Seth’s crossing eyes.  “It’s over, give it up!  Just go down, Seth.”

But Seth's legs had locked up beneath him as the rage swallowed him, like the floor opening a mouth around him, and his vision flashed with failure.  Magnus, unable to fight without someone meeting him blow for blow, locked too.  Waited for a trick, even though none was coming.  “Seth?” he said uneasily, and held back.  More compassionate than he wanted to be.

Seth was just standing there in front of him, his arms held stiff at his sides, one dripping blood, with the tears running hot and wide down his narrow cheeks.  Shuddering with rage and fear, his shoulders jogging as he tried to stay upright, his breathing wheezing on the border of hyperventilation.  It was plain from Magnus’ frown, pulled back in uncertainty, that he couldn’t tell what was happening.  But Seth was blinded by his emotions.  His instincts took over.

" _Give it to me!  Give it to me_ , fuck!  Just fuckin'  _give it to me!_   It's not _fair!_ " he screamed, holding his arms by his sides, his whole body tensed like a frightened cat, "Give me it!  Give It To Me!  Give me my fucking phone, asshole!”

Magnus was witnessing a full blown tantrum.  He could not pull his eyes away.

"Give me it!  Give me it!  It's mine and I  _want it_ and it’s not fair!  What the fuck!  What the fuck, it’s _mine!_ ”

“Jesus Christ,” said Magnus, leaning away.  The thunder crashed around them in the silence otherwise only broken by Seth’s outrageous sobs.

Seth wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, the tears sopping on his skin, and then gave a strangled gulp as he tried to pull back his composure.  “It’s not _fucking fair_ ,” he whined, and Magnus stared at him for a moment, weighed up his options, and then slapped Seth, open handed, around the cheek.

Seth gasped in pain and held his face as he looked back at Magnus, eyes all wet and kicked dog, and the other guy just stood straight before him, fingering the knife.  Waiting to play.  “Snap out of it, kid,” he snarled, the concern weighted in his voice, “What are you, five?  Man up.  It’s a fucking phone!”

“You don’t _fucking_ understand!  I _need it, faggot!_ ” snapped Seth back, and he didn’t even think as he grabbed for Magnus’ pocket, his fist closing around the thorny shape of the dethfone as Magnus snatched for his hand, bouncing on his Cuban heels as Seth was dragged around by his firm grip on the shirt. 

“Faggot!  You’re the fuckin’ faggot!  Fuck!  Get off me!” yelped Magnus, trying to shove him down and off his shirtfront, but Seth was committed, attached, his sneakers sliding over the carpet without purchase, his entire weight dragging Magnus down by his placket.  The man staggered over him, his body odour strong in Seth’s head as the shirt fell in curtains around him, the knife scratched across the back of his t-shirt as Magnus tried to wrestle him to the floor.

Seth hung off of the phone with both hands, Magnus circling with him, until finally their long legs became tangled in one another, and – with Magnus trying one final time to rear and pry Seth’s fingers off his pocket, the collar of his shirt cutting into the back of his neck – went down with a shared yell, Magnus falling onto Seth.  Seeing the end as the larger body came down over him, Seth scrambled out from under him, yanking the pocket after him in single-minded desperation as he backed across the carpet.  Magnus pulled himself up, his curls spilling over his gaunt face as he lunged for Seth and slashed at him, and this time Seth felt the blade bite his upper arm, flooding his brain with the harm as he felt the wound split open, the cold air on exposed flesh.

“Fuck, shit!” he grunted, balling Magnus’ pocket and the phone in his fist, and groped behind him for something, anything at all, a hope and a dream as Magnus slammed the knife into the carpet by his side, his blood-smeared visage inches from Seth’s face.  And a hope and a dream he hit. 

The head cleaner, abandoned on the carpet.

Seth kneed Magnus in the chest as the guy loomed over him, knife raised, and in the two seconds it brought him, twisted onto his front and tore the plastic off the bottle with his teeth, hastily unscrewing it even as Magnus’ hand grabbed the back of his head and yanked on his hair.  Seth’s hand trembled as he felt the bloody blade press against the back of his neck, and then screwed his eyes shut and splashed the liquid back at Magnus’ face.

“Augh!”  The knife dropped to the carpet beside his face as Magnus reared back, his face dripping with the chemical.  “What the _fuck?!_ ”  Seth looked up at him over his shoulder, the guy’s look of utter shock, grabbing for any explanation of what had happened as the rank chemical smell flooded the air.  Magnus dragged his sleeve over his face to mop it off, his breath shaking in confused gasps, and Seth took the chance to scramble out from under him, capping the bottle as he got up.  There was still a little inside – he’d barely even splashed Magnus.

He was only just standing by the time Magnus had recovered, snatching up his knife and springing to his feet to pursue Seth.  But something strange happened – as Seth was just taking off, he saw Magnus swoon, unsteady on his feet for the barest second before he recovered his footing and set off in pursuit.  Good move, these fucking chemicals; maybe he wasn’t alligator chow just yet.  As Seth slid into the corridor, he heard Magnus collide with the doorframe with a thud and an angry yell, his shoulder having clipped it and crashed him straight into it.  No time to think; Seth saw another door right ahead, grabbed its handle, and swung through it to slam it behind himself and into Magnus’ angry face.

Where was he – _fuck!_   He didn’t recognise this room, smelling faintly of chemicals, of... concrete dust, gasoline.  His groping hand hit a smooth surface, looming out of the gloom, and in a flash of lightning through the strip of windows on the far side of the room, Seth saw it was a car.  A nice, shiny new sedan, parked here, _the garage_.  Ahead of him, fixed to the bare wall, was a set of steel shelves with all sorts of junk piled on top of them, cables hanging down from them, and beyond them more crap, packing boxes, a golf bag with the clubs sticking out the top.  For a terrible second, Seth was assuaged by teenage memories of trying to beat his father on the course, something Calvert had tried to teach both the boys – but while Pickles had picked it up easily with his keen eye for angles and muscle control, Seth always went too far and ended up in the rough.  Or with a kid-sized five iron over his head if he wasn’t lucky, if he ‘threw off’ one of Pickles’ careful putts.  And then suddenly he was back in the present, the bag seeming to glow in his mind as he lurched towards it, the bottle of head cleaner falling out of his drugged fingers and bouncing across the concrete with an echoing ping.  He knew exactly what he had to do.

By the time Magnus got the door open and turned on the blazing garage light, blustering into the garage with his face smeared in blood and knife up to stab, Seth had drawn the six iron and was already bringing it down towards Magnus’ head, his swing a perfect arc through the air towards the guy’s jaw.  The look of horror barely had time to cross Magnus’ face before the head did, smashing around and clipping his jaw up as Seth followed it through with a sickening crack.  He felt the weight of Magnus’ body shift, his legs folding beneath him as he made a quick descent, his head bouncing off the car boot on his way down as he tried to catch himself and then the smack as his body hit the concrete below.

Seth stood there, club raised, his chest heaving with breath, as he stared at the stricken man.  Was he dead?  Even as he thought it, even as he thought, _God, I sure hope you are dead!_ , Magnus opened one marble white eye, the foggy iris rolling crazily, and Seth yelped, dropping to his knees.  Magnus was quivering, his mouth full of blood when it opened, flailing a weak hand to his side to push himself up as Seth scrambled for ideas, looking all over the garage for his next move.  He saw the head cleaner again.  Well, it had saved him once – but he could do better with his enemy on the floor.

Moving fast, Seth pulled his shirt over his head and balled it, then grabbed the bottle, shaking its contents onto the dark fabric and then plunging it over Magnus’ face.  The guy clutched his wrist in shaking hands a moment, then went limp as his breaths heaved heavy beneath the shirt, his palms resting warm against Seth’s skin.  A shuddering sigh sounded, muffled, as Magnus breathed in the chemical, his whole body lying spent, still, on the concrete floor.

“That’s it,” hissed Seth, a crooked smile tugging at his lip, “Go down, honey.  Huh, that’s what you like, ain’t it?   _Go to sleep, little baby, close your eyes..._ ”  But the look that was rolled up beneath Magnus’ sagging eyelids, in that one dark eye, was so full of pain – as though it had been slit, like it had seen all the beauty go from the world – that it shook Seth to the bone.

Then Magnus shut his eyes, his hands falling away from Seth’s wrist, and lay still, his chest still rising and falling shallow as Seth removed the cloth and stepped back.  His bare chest was cold, the rain drumming on the steel roller door as he looked around for something to keep Magnus down.  The answer came in an electrical extension cord, coiled on the shelf with all the boxes of light bulbs and epoxy, and Seth grabbed Magnus’ limp hands - they felt hot, like he was burning up - and bound them with a quick double column knot in front of him, something he’d tried on Amber before to decent success.

(Well, matrimony got boring, even six months in.)

The result looked good, resting on Magnus’ hairy belly, his long, bony fingers curled in like a heart as he breathed shallow, a horrible red mark rising on his jaw, his head lolling on the pillow of his thick curls.  Seth had felled the beast.  He recapped the head cleaner to save what little drops were left, slipped it into his sock for safekeeping, and then courageously plucked his phone back from Magnus’ top pocket, relishing the press of the spikes, warm from Magnus’ body, against his fingers, the cool concrete on his ass through his briefs where he sat on the floor beside his ‘kill’.  But the phone must have gotten knocked while they were sparring -  Seth couldn’t get his password to work no matter how hard he swore at it.  Nothing, fucked.  When he swiped up to the camera, however, it still worked; so maybe he could get those photos yet, and get one of the klokateers to unlock it later.

He took a picture of the felled and bound Magnus for posterity, the flash blinking down at the stricken man.  Shit, that looked good.  Seth had an instant thought of _put that in the wank bank_ , then wondered why the _fuck_ he’d thought that.  The photo was all hair and blood after all!  He should _not_ be getting hot and bothered from that.  It was just the victory, surely.

So, next step.  Needed to make sure Magnus didn’t go anywhere, since he was clearly still kicking.  Then photos.  Then Pickles.  Then home.  Seth suffered a pang of loneliness as he thought of home, of Amber and the kid, and looked down at Magnus, who was watching him with his blind eye – so not really watching at all – and blowing bloody bubbles over his lip from his barely open mouth.  “You don’t know how lucky you are, huh.  All on your own,” he said quietly, his head sagging from fatigue, and slid his phone down his opposite sock.  Magnus’ bruised face stang with pain again, as if he had heard, but Seth ignored it and got to his feet, stuffing the shirt into the back of his briefs.  The photos were in the bathroom – that was probably the first step.  Now, to hope all those nights in front of the telly hadn’t ruined him for good; Seth grabbed one of Magnus’ ankles in each hand and hauled, slowly dragging him behind as he made his way backwards back into the house.  He winced as Magnus’ head bounced on the step into the corridor.  But that was about the worst of it, moving at a crawl as Seth struggled with Magnus’ dead weight, having to stop to catch his breath every few meters.

He made it to the bathroom, panting, and – wrestling with Magnus’ limp body – barely managed to lift him and push him into the bath tub, his shoulders at the foot of it, his chin crushed against his chest, and his two spindly legs sprawled, the left one hanging over the side while the other dangled over the end of the tub.  That would do the trick.  With his hands bound in front of him and his legs akimbo, Magnus wouldn’t be able to push his body up or get a purchase to stand before Seth had gotten him down again, and Seth sat on the side of the bath to gloat over him as he lined up the photos to retake his blackmail.

The camera flash went off in the dark bathroom with a blaze, the rain pounding heavier on the roof overhead.  That was it.  Seth had it.  All he needed now was to get out of here, and he felt down Magnus’ jeans before he found the man’s phone, made somewhat more difficult by the fact that Magnus, despite having a heap serving of concussion, was somehow still half-hard.  Jesus fuck, thought Seth, what a messed up dude.  But the phone, a cheap, basically disposable Nokia, didn’t have a lock – nor any names in the address book.  Very suspicious, but it’d be enough to call a taxi.

If he could remember the number.

“Huh, shit,” said Seth to himself, and looked over at Magnus, only to see those two eyes gazing coldly back at him from where he was slumped in the bottom of the bath.  Seth did his best not to be unnerved, and smiled playfully at him.  “Think y’could call me that taxi now, huh?”

And as the lightning filled up the room, Magnus bared his teeth, red with his blood, his hands flexing against the cable bonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearing the end. thank you for all your support and comments so far, it's amazing!


	7. Double Helix

There was something more terrifying about Magnus conquered than there had been about Magnus berserk, lying there in the bath and slowly trying to shape his bruised mouth around the words to answer Seth, the black blood tracing a fat line from his nostril to his top lip again and the ugly swelling risen on the cut of his jaw where the club had connected.  Seth couldn't place what it was he disliked about it - looking down at the man's weak body, stretched out in the bath beside him, half hard, bound and bubbling blood - but recognised the hateful rush of arousal and, though he judged it, did not fight it down this time. 

Reasonably, if he thought straight (ha! ha! _jesus!_ remarked his mind bitterly), it followed that he’d feel it, ya know, all this rolling around half naked with someone, and Magnus’ place was rightfully at Seth’s feet.  It made sense, evolutionally, y’know, that he’d feel a little perked about beating the shit out of someone – beyond the drug that had been forced down his throat, that swung his balance with every quirk of his head; spun him as he leaned down to the photos and fished them off the floor, holding them up to Magnus where he lay in the bath.

“What the fuck you doin’ with this shit, anyway, huh,” said Seth, quirking an eyebrow at him, his bony ass sore on the edge of the tub.  “This shit, is fuckin’ sick.  I mean, what the hell.  What kind of dude collects fuckin’ pictures of his friends fuckin’.  Some fuckin’, screwball, y’know what I’m sayin’...”

A shaking, hissing breath escaped Magnus’ bloody lip before he managed a word, as though the very act of moving his jaw was splitting it, his eyes locked on Seth as the guy frowned down at him, holding the phone in the palm of his hand anxiously.  Not that he should be nervous, Magnus couldn’t do shit.  Seth was in control.  Seth was... in control.  Straightening where he sat, jutting his chin arrogantly, he thought he heard Magnus say a number, the cowardly fuck chickening on him and desperate to just get him out of the house, but when Seth said, “What?” and leaned closer, it was not to the words he wanted to hear.

“What... did you do...” rasped Magnus, and Seth curled his lip at him.

“To you?  You fuckin’, huh.  Dink.  I hit you with a golf club, that’s what I fuckin’ did.”  But the look on Magnus’ swollen face made it obvious he hadn’t finished.

“To... hh, him... him – ” He paused to give a pathetic, liquid cough, a small spray of blood dotting his bare chest, and raised his bound wrists, his hands shaking as he extended a long finger to point at the picture that Seth had since abandoned on his lap.  “To him.  Seth.”

“Uh huh, uh, who.”  Seth had found the games function in the Nokia’s tiny green screen, investigating his options of Tetris, Snake and Dice.

“... _Pickles_.”  With the final word spat, Magnus slumped in the tub, his chin resting on his chest and the bloody saliva flooding over his bottom lip, glaring into space as Seth eyeballed him from above.

“Huh,” clucked Seth eventually, “Pickles,” his body held stiff against the ache of his injuries and open wounds, dulled by the sedatives that stewed in his system, “You, uh... whaddaya mean, what’d I _do?_ ”

Magnus breathed heavily, staring into Seth’s skull, and Seth turned his attention back to the phone.  “Huh.  Didn’t do nothin’ to Pickles,” he remarked rudely, pulling himself away from that one dead eye reflected white in the cold light from the overhead window, “ _Fuck_.  _He_ did to _me_ , y’know.  Fuck.”

This was enough to provoke a hiss from the stricken man, the breath leaving his battered ribs with a clipping sound.  With the bruises coming up along Seth’s bare torso where Magnus had swung his boot into him, it was hard to feel any pity for the guy.  He heard Magnus swallow, collecting the blood and saliva on his tongue before passing it down, and his languid, red-eyed blink followed it.  “Those pictures, I...”

Seth listened closely, his eyes narrowed on the man, resting the Nokia in his lap to listen.  He was suspicious of Magnus, dimly concerned the concussion had left him a little... not right.  Seth fingered the open wound on his arm, the other stinging on his hand – not deep, but deep enough to bleed, the edges inflamed and pouting from his pale, freckle-pocked skin.  Kitchen knives were not meant to slit but to saw, a stupid weapon.  But Magnus had dropped his thread, a shuddering breath escaping his black, bloody lips, and he licked them, his eyelids fluttering as he regarded Seth.

“You really...”  Magnus’ finger twitched in his bonds, his shoulders drawn high around his face.  “Pickles and I, were - close once, Seth... he’d talk, about those _stupid_ men...” – as Magnus said this, he shook his head weakly, his goatee curled against his chest – “... in that cock rock band... women, he’d spit fuckin’ venom, about women... but never once, never in...”

Magnus drew a sharp breath, clipping again in his lungs, and fixed Seth with a look, “ _Four years_... give or take... did I hear a fuckin’ word about you.  About any of you, your family.  Strange...”

Seth gave a short sniff, keeping his eyes on Magnus.  He couldn’t escape, right?  Seth wondered if what he said was true, if Pickles really had hated them so much he couldn’t bear to talk of them.  It would explain the band’s idiocy at his wedding – the real meaning escaped them.  “So?  Guy fuckin’, ran off to be a fuckin’, hot shot rockstar, or whatever.  Fuckin’, ditch your family for that shit, huh.  He probly felt... y’know.  Guilt or whatever.”

Seth glanced to Magnus’ boots, poking up stiffly where they stuck into the air.  But he hadn’t moved save to speak, gazing at him from deep in the tub.

“When I was a kid,” started Magnus in a rasp, and Seth rolled his eyes.  Yep, he definitely had concussion.

“Sure, huh, I’ll just go get some fuckin’, popcorn if we gonna go through your whole fuckin’ life story, huh.”

“... my mother and my step-father took me aside to tell me, about a man in our church – a piano teacher, the uncle of one of the kids at school – who was gonna go to jail.  He’d been caught, Seth, touchin’ kids – his nephew – he was going to jail.  None of us kids were to say anything.  Not a sound.  Even if it happened to us.”

Seth felt a different shiver up his spine, a cold echo of terror inside him as Magnus recounted his story, swallowed slowly again.  “It didn’t – happen to me, y’know, but... that kid was fucked up.  Frightened.  Turned out gay.  I know if I had ever told my mom about... bein’ with men, she would’ve thought it had, happened to me.  But it didn’t.  But sometimes it does go like that – fuck.”  Magnus raised his bound hands to his face, rubbing his eye with the side of one of them.  “I dunno, it’s... all fucked.”

“Yeah,” said Seth quietly, frowning down at him.  The fear sat in the back of his head, right above his spine, made it hard to think as Magnus dug his claws into decades of family secrets – buried his fingers in the cold earth and turned it up for Seth to witness, the things he didn’t know enough about, never would.

“What I’m tryna get at... Pickles... we were close.”  Talking in circles – Seth drew a short breath as he listened to Magnus’ slow, sore words.  “That kid is fucked... Pickles, I mean... in the same way.  And I wonder – I just... _wonder_... to be like that... y’know... what happened... and I see, he’s telling us to shut up if – if family ever comes up.  And then here, _here_ , a fuckin’ _decade_ later – ”

Magnus’ voice grew manic, frightened, laughing as he continued, “There’s you, you fuckin’... his _brother_ , you look just like him!  And you use _sex_ to get what you want!  Take advantage of a lonely man for pictures, pictures of your _brother_ fucking, I’m just!  I’m just wondering, darling!  What the fuck did you do to that boy!”

Seth felt ill as he met Magnus’ laughing eyes, the gleaming pale circle like a pearl, the bloodshot whites, and the stained teeth jeering like a red crescent moon below.  “Fuckin’ nothin’,” he said, his voice weak, his hand clasped tight around the phone.  “I didn’t do nothin’, Mag.”

“I bet you say that to _all_ the boys,” purred Magnus, and Seth felt the twang as the nerve snapped in his head, and his hand shot out to Magnus’ jaw, hooking it as he jammed the fork of his hand into his windpipe to a squeak of pain uncharacteristic of the guitarist.

“Shut the fuck up!  You don’t know _shit_ , asshole!” squealed Seth, his face flooded hot with blood and Magnus wincing away from his spittle sprayed onto his face with the force of his words, his breath laboured from the pain of Seth’s thumb ground into the lump on his jaw.  “I didn’t do fuckin’ _nothin_ ’ to Pickles, we got a – we got a good fuckin’ relationship, ‘cept he’s a fuckin’, greedy cunt!   But otherwise we’re fuckin’ good, I didn’t do shit!”

“Someone did,” wheezed Magnus, his nails scratching against the underside of Seth’s arm as he was choked.

“Not me.  Not me!  They won’t tell me shit and, fuck!  I don’t even wanna know!  How fuckin’ _dare you!_ ” he screeched, and Magnus’ eyes fluttered.

“Seth – you’re hurting me – ” he whispered, strangled, and Seth spat in his face, the slag hitting his cheekbone with a wet sound as Magnus flinched back in the bath.

“You fuckin’ deserve it.  Huh.”  Seth dropped him unceremoniously, Magnus slumping into the bath and reaching up weakly to wipe the spit from his cheek with his bound hands. 

“Okay,” croaked Magnus, his voice drifting up from the bath faintly as Seth held his head in his hands and grieved for it.  It was all true, he knew shit had happened but it hadn’t been him – he knew, Molly and Calvert had both mentioned in passing, but refused to tell him any details.  He figured it was Pickles’ father, this distant figure exiled from their lives.  Seth didn’t even know what the guy looked like.  He suspected neither did Pickles.  Most importantly, Seth – like Magnus, staring up at his parents – was not to tell anyone, and most of all Pickles.  But then he’d never been very good at holding his tongue.

“Okay.  Yeah.  I deserved that,” wheezed Magnus, his eyes struggling to focus as his lazy eyelid sagged, “That’s okay.  It’s still _fucked up_ , man.”

“The, uh, photos,” said Seth distantly, looking at them – face down – at his feet.

“The photos,” echoed Magnus, knowing well that following Seth’s words would endear him to his captor, and Seth breathed out through his nose with a soft, unhappy sound.

“I’m in, fuckin’... debt.  To Dethklok.  Pickles – he got handed all the fuckin’ shots in life, everything just fuckin’... fell into his lap, you know what I’m sayin’?  Me, I got shit.  Least he could do is give me a fuckin’, y’know, _job_ after he fucked up my weddin’, y’know how fuckin’ tough it is to get a job with a conviction?”

He was aware of Magnus staring up at him without emotion, like a frog in a drain.

“So yeah, like, fuckin’ _thanks_ , it’s a job, but it’s fuckin’, rigged, dude.  It’s fuckin’ _rigged_.  That asshole of a manager poppin’ up like a fuckin’ cold sore,” – Seth affected the whiniest, most nasal effete voice he could to imitate Offdensen – _“You’re in debt, you’re bleedin’ this company dry, Seth!_ Fuck!” and then slammed his fist down on the side of the bath to a dull thud.  His other hand stang with the shallow score Magnus had put into it, wrapped tense around the Nokia.

“And it’s in fuckin’, Satan’s asshole, _Australia_.  Jesus.  He fuckin’, dicked me over, man.  I ain’t seen my folks outside a screen in months, I ain’t seen... y’know... chicks or whatever or...”  Seth held his face in his hand, hunched over his scrawny knees, as his voice dropped off, smothered against his palm, “Mitch ‘n’ Bobby... y’know... y’know?  Whatever...”

“Yeah,” said Magnus quietly.  He had already pegged Seth’s loneliness and begun to puppet it, from before even their first meeting, but lay in repose, a silent rejection of his own feelings lining up parallel, not yet prepared to entertain the idea that he could empathise with such a wretched creature.  When Seth did not continue, staring into space, he cleared his throat and repeated, “The photos...”

“Oh, yeah.  Fuck.  _Anyway_.”  Seth slapped his knee to punctuate the turn in his train of thought, and the lightning flashed outside, the thunder clap right behind it, Seth’s bruised and bloodied face lit up a frightening white in the blue bathroom gloom.  “Figured if I could get some fuckin’ dirt on my asshole brother I can get some cash off him, pay off the fuckin’ suit and everything’s, huh, fuckin’, hunky dory, y’know?  Sorted.  Paid off with his own fuckin’ cash, huh!  Worked before, so pretty much a sure thing, y’know what I mean?”

Magnus’ eyes narrowed in the dark, bloodshot slivers as the bruises turned red on his cheek and jaw.  “Pickles,” he said, the name still strange and thorny on his tongue, “You’re... _blackmailing_ him.”

Seth looked back and him and shrugged with innocent, wide eyes.

“Jesus Christ.”  Magnus looked up at the ceiling, his shoulders held stiffly, then closed his eyes to luxuriate in this thought and the humming pain of the bone-bruise on his jaw, glowing where his lip curled into a smirk he could hardly contain at the notion.  “You really are a fucking piece of work, ain’t ya.”

“Yeah, well.  It’s a doggy dogg world, Mag,” replied Seth, blasé, and idly scrolled through Magnus’ recent calls on the Nokia again.  “What’s the number for the taxi?  Or I’ll call your boyfriend and tell ‘im you’re chasin’ strange, huh.”

A retching croak that might have been a laugh before the decades of cigarettes guttered up from the bottom of the bath, and Seth looked back down at Magnus to see the guy’s face flushed around his bruises, grimacing up at him from the pillow of his curls.  “ _Boyfriend?_   What the _fuck_ , man?” he wheezed up at Seth, and Seth pouted down at him stubbornly.

“I mean, ya don’t, huh, fuckin’ talk like that to your fuckin’ bros, y’know what I’m sayin’?”

Magnus shot him a helpless look.  “You have no idea how fucked up that is,” he mumbled, and stuck his tongue into his bruise inside his lip as he tried to imagine it – then winced at what he saw.  “Man.  _Man._   Fuck.  No.  Jesus.  Fuck.  He’d fuckin’... snap me.”

Seth listened unamused, his head tilted, and Magnus widened his eyes at him as he emphasised, “He’d _pop_ you.  The man’s a fucking wall.  Ugh.”  He sunk back slowly, his shoulders pressed against the cold porcelain.  “He doesn’t want you, anyway.  I’m s’posed to send you home.”

“Then fuckin’ do it, asshole?  What’s the number for the taxi?” sneered Seth, and the guy arched a thick eyebrow up at him from the bottom of the bath.

“Oh, sure, y'know I'm a little busy right now but for you, Seth? Anything.  Just hand me the phone there and I, Magnus Hammersmith, a man who has miraculously withheld his licence despite an eye condition and is damn proud of the fact, will call you a taxi with the taxi number that I have memorised, with my car and all, for a taxi company in a city, in a _State_ , that _I don’t even live in._ ”  By the time Magnus had finished he was snapping, eyeballing Seth from the bath, his breath rasping in his lungs.  Seth quirked his brow as he looked down at Magnus.

“You don’t live in Florida?”

“Oh... _fuck_.”

“Motherfuckin’ Jesus,” said Seth shortly, curling his lip down at the other man, “You’re an asshole.”  He was minorly impressed at the effort that had gone into trying to get at his ass, all these lies and deception, and looked over Magnus again curiously.  The guy still had a semi.  Seth, a curious man by nature, was not able to keep his mouth shut about it even as he dropped the Nokia to the floor and swapped it for his locked phone, giving his password another try.

“You know you got a boner, right?” he asked, and gave the dethfone a shake as it refused to unlock again.  Magnus looked down his body and shuffled his hips with some difficulty.

“Oh... yeah.  That’ll... be the amyl, yeah,” he mumbled, dropping his head back with a clunk on the wall of the bath, and Seth gave a little sniff as his phone vibrated again, declining his password.

“Amyl?”

“The amyl... uh, it’s like, Pavlovian, I guess... y’know?” hazarded Magnus, “I always used to huff it when I had sex so, like... it just connects in my brain, right?  I don’t _mean_ it.”

Seth felt a little miffed, a little less special, at that.  He dropped his hand with the phone down across his bent knee, lifting his other hand in frustration: “What the _fuck_ is amyl?”  And felt Magnus’ one eye on him.

“You don’t know?”  Magnus looked awkward, pouting up at Seth.  “Eesh.  That’s uncomfortable... it’s, uh, stuff... in that bottle?  Yeah.  You huff it and it gives you a little headspin, makes you feel all hot... if you snort it right before you’re gonna cum, it feels better... it all just feels better, y’know...”

Seth listened with interest, and pulled the bottle out of his sock, turning it around in his fingers.  “That why you got it?” he asked, and Magnus shrugged and diverted his eyes.

“Yeah, well, and I thought if you – uh.  When you...”  He slowly looked back at Seth, meeting his curious gaze, and admitted, “When someone fucks you up the ass, if you huff amyl it makes it real easy, man, that’s why you use it.  I bought it, y’know, fuckin’ special for your twink ass, fuck.  I guess I was optimistic.”

Magnus gave a snort, catching in his lungs  as he rolled his eyes.  “And now look at me!  How the fuckin’... turntables – tables _turn!_   Fuck!”  He screwed his eyes shut, ashamed at his own disordered thoughts, and Seth replaced the bottle and looked him up and down again, his lips held in a tight pout.  The boner had only gotten stronger as Magnus had mused on fucking Seth’s ass – which was flattering, sure, but still. 

“Sounds like you need to, fuckin’, cool down,” he said, and turned on the cold tap over Magnus’ head to a weak stream.  The guy flinched as the water hit his face, trickling down his gnarled features and mixing with the blood on his face before it wove its trail down his long beard, onto his chest, and off his ribs to soak into his shirt.

“Fuck you, asshole...”

Seth snickered at him and turned away, his hand springing to his waistband and the amyl drenched shirt he’d stowed there.  Curious, Seth pulled the shirt out, holding it up to his face to take a deep inhale of the chemical dried into the cotton.  He wasn’t going to miss out on this party.  Magnus watched him, eyes wide, from below as the water poured down his face.

After a second, Seth pulled the shirt back from his nose, his face twisted in confusion as he sniffed the chemical again.  He could smell it over his sweat, strong and biting like shoe polish or brass cleaner, but felt nothing fun like Magnus described, no sphincter loosening.  “Pssht, it ain’t do – ” he started, then his eyes widened as the heat rose in him in a sudden flood.  “Aw, fuck.”

Seth gave a sniff and shook out the shirt, fanning himself with it, ignoring Magnus’ hoarse chuckle.  “Fuck, that’s potent,” he said, his tongue slurring as the amyl and seroquel met each other in his system and combined to sink his head into his hand.  Seth raked his hand down his face, feeling everything swim and churn like his brain was a bucket of chum, and then peeked through his fingers at his phone again.  It had to be possible.  The screen wasn’t even frozen – there was no logic to it not letting him in, just... fucking...

“You know how to use one of these, fuckin’, y’know?” he asked, holding it back to Magnus, and Magnus was halfway through shrugging, wincing as the water hit his dead eye and screwing it shut, and saying _I dunno, put it in some rice or something_ when his eyes bugged.

“Seth...” he croaked, and barely got it out before the phone in Seth’s hand went off with the shrieking riff of Snakes ‘N’ Barrel’s chart busting hit single, _Sweet Lil’ Darling Girl Child_ , squealing into the quiet bathroom.  Seth yanked the phone back to see Pickles’ leering face above the letters screaming at him: INCOMING CALL: PICKLES.

Why the shit was Pickles calling him?!  More importantly, how did he answer this thing again?  Seth swiped helplessly over the screen, Magnus watching him paralysed in terror in the bath as Seth managed to answer it on speaker and swore prolifically as a stream of obscenity flooded tinny into the bathroom from the phone speaker.

 _SETH?! WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOOOOU, I’M FUCKIN, GETTIN MY FUCKIN ASS ROASTED HERE CUZ YOU THINK THIS IS SOME FUCKIN JOKE_ –

“Fuck!” said Seth, and swiped some more to turn it off of speaker, but his hand was clumsy and a moment later he heard the phone chime, _Bluetooth Connected._   Magnus’ eyes were twin saucers where he saw Pickles’ vein-popping visage projected over Seth’s shoulder against the back of the bedroom wall, the camera phone having connected automatically to his projector, the electricity restarted in the fuse box automatically.  The drummer was sitting on the end of his bed in his underwear, looking washed out, shirt on and pants off and holding the phone up to speak into it.  In the background, two beautiful women lay draped across his bed, with a flash of tit or ass visible in the lurching vision as Pickles swooned with it in his hand.

“ _Ugh, shoulda really put a password on that, huh_.  _What time is it even there...?_ ” he mumbled, though the words were stiff in his throat, his eyes locked on the face from deep in his past.  Pickles looked deeply upset, tense all over his shoulders as if he was being forced to speak to his brother at gunpoint.  

Seth gave up, resigned himself to answering the call, and smiled into his phone camera at Pickles.  “Hey, bro!  What the _fuck_ is your problem?” he asked, and Pickles’ projected image, held at arm’s length, screwed up his face in rage and disgust.

_YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!  WHY THE FUCK YOU LET YOUR WIFE HACK YOUR FRIENDFACE?!  SIGN OUT, IT TAKES TWO FUCKING SECONDS, DIPSHIT!  NOW TOKI’S BITING MY FUCKING ASS OFF ABOUT IT, I DON’T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING FRIENDFACE AND –_

“No one hacked my Friendface,” said Seth, puzzled, his button nose scrunched as he thought about this.  Over his shoulder, Pickles’ face dropped in horror.

_Ehhhh, what do you mean, no one hacked it?_

“No one hacked it.  I logged off at home, I’m on fuckin’, holiday, I mean – if you got a problem with what I post -- ”  Seth glanced down at Magnus, who was desperately holding his breath for some reason, the water trickling down his face as he looked like he needed to piss badly, his hands curled in where they were tied at the wrist.

 _Are you for serious, bro... why the fuck would you..._ Pickles flexed his fist in the air, miming strangling his brother as the image jumped on the projector’s poor connection.  _Are you stoned?  Shit._

“Naw, I’m high on fuckin’... Seroquel and fuckin’, amyl, bro.  What fucking status do you have a fucking problem with, asshole?” sneered Seth, and Pickles’ image lurched as he moved the phone, trying to work out how to access the website at the same time as he was holding his dethfone.

Magnus had swallowed whatever his issue was, looking weak and vulnerable, his gaze torn between the projector image and the colour image on Seth’s phone, lingering on the latter.  “Man, kid got ugly, huh,” he said quietly, having clocked that Pickles couldn’t hear him, and Seth smirked at his quip.

_I dunno, man, I dunno, I dunno!  Shit!  Something about blowjobs, shit, shit... it’s so fuckin’ early, I can’t believe I even exist, like, as a concept, at this time of day!  Why you gotta make me do this bullshit!  Amyl??  Fuck!_

Seth narrowed his eyes at the phone, and then looked over his shoulder at Magnus, who extended a finger from his tied fists and wagged it at him, hissing, “ _Don’t tell him, don’t tell him!_ ”  When Seth just wrinkled his nose, a kind of half commitment, Magnus dropped his shoulders in a muted sigh and admitted under his breath, “Yeah, I wrote it.  This is, uh.... pretty fuckin’ funny, to me, right now.”

“ _What does it say?”_ hissed Seth, and Magnus breathed out, listening to Pickles’ continued vague obscenities over the speakers.

“It just says you blew a dude, man, it was just a joke, y’know...”

“Fuckin, _shit_.”

 _I can’t fuckin’ remember anyway but it’s fuckin’, why, dude!_ snapped Pickles, giving a desperate look on the screen, and Seth squared his shoulders, looking back at him proudly.

“So?  You got a fuckin’ problem with it?” he sneered, and Pickles stared at him in silent horror.

_N-no – I just—_

“You fuckin’, homophobe, Pickles?  Are ya?  Shit.  I never thought I’d see the fuckin’ day, my brother, a fuckin’, rockstar, don’t support my right to be a cumguzzlin’ faggot.  It’s a free fuckin’ country, Pickles.  I got freedom of speech.  Jesus.  I mean, huh, I useta fuckin’, look up to you, dude.  I dunno what to say.”

Magnus watched this exchange in awe, the changing fear that danced over Pickles’ face, the cocky bigotry with which Seth flawlessly changed from one insult to another.

_Oh my – fuckin’ – you know what.  I don’t care.  I don’t care, Seth.  I just WISH YOU WOULDN’T PUT IT WHERE EVERYONE CAN READ IT DUDE.  You don’t even have fuckin’, privacy controls on, Jesus fuck!  What if – what if Amber reads it?  You’re fuckin’ cheatin on her!_

“Oh, she’s cool with it,” said Seth, blinking cutely into the camera.  “Huh, nah, she’s into it.  You know what chicks are like.”

_Yeah, yeah, right.  Seriously did not need to know that, dude._

Magnus’ good eye darted from screen to screen from where he was hidden in the trough of the bath, and he shook the water off his face quickly to hiss up at Seth: “ _Now.  Do it now_.”

“ _What?_ ”

“ _While he’s off balance, do it now!_ ”

Seth stared past the phone in his hands, Pickles on the screen rubbing his bald scalp anxiously.  “But I can’t – I can’t – ” he stuttered, trying to swipe open the phone again and access his images.  Magnus had a point, why squander this opportunity?  But he couldn’t blackmail Pickles without access to the pictures – and the phone was fucked.

“ _You don’t even need it, just – just bluff! It’s right at your feet and he’s scared_ shitless _of you!  Now’s your chance!”_

Seth sniffed softly, doubting Magnus.  But – when he thought about it, with ten years blank in their history together and Magnus with four extra years under his belt, four years of post-Snakes ‘N’ Barrels Pickles to Seth’s week at max – perhaps he did know him better. 

“Speakin’ of motherfuckin’, blowjobs,” he said, his whiney voice wavering as he ventured it, and Pickles raised his head with a hand rubbed anxiously over his shining forehead.

_I don’t even wanna know, Seth._

“Heeeh.”  Seth smirked at him.  “Naw, I’m serious, Pickles.  Listen to me.  I got hold of this... picture, photo, whatever the fuck, through, uh... sources.  And it’s blowin’ my mind cuz I think it might be you, bro!”

Pickles paused, looking into the shaky camera with distant realisation casting its shafts of light across his hangover-addled brain.  _What the fuck are you talkin’ bout,_ he snarled, and then blinked it away.  _I don’t care.  I don’t care, fuck!  Fuck.  Those lake pictures were fuckin’ bad enough..._

“Heh, yeah.  So... since you, heh, y’know, said it Pickles.  Lemme just break this down for you,” purred Seth, smiling into the camera toothily.  “I need, uh, approximately, hoo.  Four million dollars, like, yesterday.  Or – ”

 _Four million dollars?!_ mouthed Magnus from the tub, and over the phone’s speakers, Pickles shrieked:

**_FOUR?! MILLION???? MOTHERFUCKING???? DOLLARS?!??!?_ **

“Four million motherfuckin’ greenbacks,” said Seth happily, grinning coolly at him.  “Huh, and that’s _American_.  And if ya don’t, this goes straight up on the forums.”

“ _Metalsludge,_ ” said Magnus softly, and Seth straightened where he sat on the side of the tub, the phone’s screen lighting his silhouette against the tiled wall.

“Not _just_ on Metalsludge.  On the fuckin’, official forum.  I got a motherfuckin’, executive account on there, y’know.”

Seth inspected his nails as Pickles buried his face in his hands onscreen.  Huh, there was blood under there...

 _Oooohhhhhh I know.  I know.  I’ve seen you post motherfuckin’ piss porn on there..._ moaned Pickles, and then fixed the screen with a vicious scowl.  _Whatever, try me.  I can shake anything you got off.  Heh, I mean, what, oh, Pickles likes fuckin’ groupies, ohh, fuckin’, call the fuckin’ Daily Show with that tasty nugget._

“Oh, huh.  Y’know, I think I will.  Think fuckin’, Rupert Murdoch would like a whiff of this, Pickles.  Let’s take a fuckin’ peek.”  Seth pretended to turn over the photo with his foot, though he had no desire to see it again, and mimed looking down at it.  “I’m seein’... blood.  Lots of fuckin’ blood, man.  Didn’t know you had a fuckin’... blood thing, dude...”

Pickles onscreen had raised his head, staring tormented into the camera.  _Ehh... what are you... sayin’..._ he said anxiously, his fingers twitching with the fear.

“I’m seein’ a motherfuckin’ big dick,” said Seth crudely, and a weird shadow of a flattered smile twitched on Magnus’ lips before the dribble from the tap redirected down the lines of his face and flooded his mouth and wiped it away again, “And I’m seein’ Pickles.  Pickles the fuckin’ drummer, goin’ down on – ”

_No?!?_

“ – A dude... his _bandmate_ – ”

 _No way!_ Seth giggled to himself as he heard Pickles’ voice break again, cracking over his words as he snapped into blind hysteria. _No fuckin’ way!! No way you have – no way!  You can’t see my face, though, you can’t –_

“Oh, pretty sure this is a full... mm hmm.  Yup.  Every fuckin’ freckle, bro.  Every fuckin’ pube.”  Seth picked up the photo, avoiding looking at it himself as he held it in front of the camera to show his brother.  Through the tinny speakers, Pickles drew a sharp breath.

_No..._

“Oh, yeah.”

 _Ohhhh nonononono!  No!  He MOTHERFUCKIN’ PROMISED me, he wasn’t gonna – oohhhhh – SETH._   The desperation in Pickles’ eyes was so thick, Seth could have scraped it off of him.  He clutched his dreads in his hands, tugging on them in anguish.  _Where the fuck did you get that?!  Oh, my gaaaawd..._

“Ehh, y’know, I got my ways,” said Seth nonchalantly, and Pickles let out a wheedling sound.

_Four million dollars?!  Auuughhh?!  No!_

“Five,” said Seth, and a vein popped on Pickles’ forehead.

_No!  Abso-fuckin-lutely not!!  Dammit!_

“Six.”

_Four!_

“Four point five?”

_Fuckin’ four, Seth, what the fuck!_

“Okay, okay, fuck.  You talked me down.  Four.”  Seth leaned back on his hand, battling not to show his fatigue.  “Right now.  Transfer it.  And we’re cool, huh.”

 _Oh... god.  Oh god._   Pickles’ expression was harrowing, haunted and dark-ringed, his eyes wide as he stared past Seth on his screen.  _I’m gonna... ain’t I... oh god.  But you gotta... Seth, listen to me.  That – that looked like a Kodak, dude.  Is that... like... THE copy... y’know what I mean?  The original.  Y’know._

Seth cast a glance aside at Magnus, who gave a stiff-shouldered nod.  “Yeah,” he told Pickles, and the guy visibly relaxed.

 _Okay.  Okay.  If I transfer you this money, I need you to destroy it.  Y’hear me?  I know... I know you’re, just... fuck, the WORST.  But you gotta have some kinda moral fiber, right?_ The drummer gave a short huff, putting the phone aside as he got up to search for his laptop.  The phone showed the stone ceiling of Mordhaus, and Magnus scanned it with his good eye, swallowing back blood and water where he lay in the bath.

 _I wanna see you destroy it.  If you don’t, I’ll get Charlie to take it back off ya,_ came Pickles’ voice, and Seth sat up tense, greedy eyes on the phone. _I can do that, y’know._   _I can._ There was a distant sound of keys tapping, and then Pickles appeared onscreen again.  _Okay.  I’m doin’ it.  Jesus Christ.  Anything for you to leave me the fuck alone._ Seth could see the computer screen, barely making out the band’s internal banking system, and Pickles hit enter theatrically, a bitter pout on his lips.

“Okay,” said Seth, playing with the phone and getting nowhere, “I’m checkin’ it now.  I’m fuckin’...”  He took note of Pickles’ watchful stance, not how he was when he was lying – he really had done it.  “Checkin’ it.  Cool.  Thanks, bro, you’re a fuckin’ legend, y’know.”

 _The fuckin’ photo, Seth._   Pickles scowled at him, so Seth huffed back at him and looked down at Magnus.  Although Magnus could give no guidance, Seth did notice something lined in his jeans beside his stiff dick, and dug his hand into Magnus’ pocket, careful not to show Pickles any glimpse of the other man.

“ _Hey, hey!”_ snapped Magnus, shoving at Seth’s fingers with his bound hands as the guy pawed at his crotch, “ _Save it for later, why don’t ya!”_

Seth snorted back, _“As if there’ll be a fuckin’ later!_ ”, ignoring his own arousal at the denial, and pulled the heavy metal cigarette lighter out of Magnus’ pocket.  Straightening and holding the phone on his knees, he held up the photo so Pickles could see it and then cocked the zippo, letting the flame lick and bubble the plastic film until the paper caught and burned in his fingers, curling and dropping away.  When the last shred was all that remained, Seth blew out the flame and dropped it to the tiles, a deep relief in himself as the lighter cap flicked closed with a clink.  Pickles, too, had damn near melted into himself with relief.

 _... uh.  Thanks, Seth,_ he said awkwardly, and gave a hard huff as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.  _I’m gonna go back to bed now.  You... take care or... whatever.  Don’t call me.  And try not to fuck up that kid a’yours._

“Tight.  No fuckin’ problem, bro.”  But Pickles had already hung up to go and vomit his feelings out.

There was a silence as the distant thunder boomed around them, the room dark as the phone’s screen dimmed and the projector disconnected.  Magnus shifted with a slosh, the water having soaked into his shirt, and Seth put the phone down on the floor.  “Over,” he mumbled, and suddenly slumped backwards, dropping off the edge of the bath and into Magnus’ lap, the crook of his knees over the side as his body crumpled into the tub.  Magnus gave a little _oof_ , but was more preoccupied with the water, which had done nothing to stop his hard on, and the guy leaning on his stiff dick now.

“You destroyed my photo,” murmured Magnus, his hands nudging Seth’s side out of necessity, and Seth shrugged against the side of the bath, flicking the zippo in his exhaustion.  “That was, uh... special to me... y’know.”

“I fuckin’, get it, okay, whatever.  You’re fuckin’, in love with him, I don’t give a shit,” huffed Seth, and he looked sideways in time to catch Magnus’ murderous scowl down the bath, his breath heaving beneath him.  “Every-fuckin’-one is.  Save it for some fuckin’ jack off sesh, Mag.”

“I am not in love with Pickles,” snarled Magnus, his gaze burning with disgust and a decade of compressed rage, and curled his lip, “I am _in hate_ – ” but Seth wasn’t paying attention.

In fact, he was barely present at all, the drug having tugged at his head as soon as it was resting against the porcelain and sinking him into its haze.  It was done, and his body screamed at him that now he could rest.  He knew that wasn’t true with Magnus right beneath him, but... but... he was tied up and all.  There was nothing he could do to Seth, tied up, concussed and half drowning.

“Are you going to sleep, Seth...?” came Magnus’ voice, tentative, the water sloshing around his body, and Seth’s eyes sagged closed.  He could feel Magnus’ fingers trail against his bare side, the dense bruises swollen there, and he shook his head stiffly.

“I’m fuckin... fine,” he mumbled, feeling sucked into a hole, and Magnus saw right through him.

“If you were to go down... then maybe you’ve earned it,” said Magnus, and he slowly lifted his hands over his head, resting his wrists against his temple so the water ran over them where the cord pressed into the skin.  “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”  Seth heard the guy’s voice softly:

“ _Sleep, little baby, close your eyes.  Angels are above you, keeping watch over you.  The big blue moon is shining, the stars are beginning to glow...”_

Seth could feel the hypnagogic weight against his consciousness, and he saw, half in a dream, a video on MTV.  Live.  Pickles.  Chucking a tantrum, screaming, _Sing for me!_ The stage was blue, gold stars hanging down in curtains, and there were women, a chorus, and they sang together for him:  _Sleep little baby, close your eyes... and shine on..._

And Seth let his chin rest against his collarbone, losing it.  Beneath him, Magnus stretched his wrists against the cable and recalled instead what he guessed must have been from Seth’s childhood, as it had been from Pickles’, recalled resting his head in the drummer’s lap with short fingers ran through his curls, and the moist and acrid smell of Pickles’ jeans, and his distant, idle voice, _sleep li’l baby, close your eyes... angels are above you, keepin’ watch over you, the big blue moon, it shines..._

But it wasn’t part of Seth’s childhood at all.  And all the same he dropped, and all the same, Magnus’ hands tensed the lax, wet cord and then worked themselves free as he twisted his palms against each other.  Seth was barely conscious of the hands hooking under his knees and shoulders as Magnus struggled to shove him off his lap, but was entirely conscious of his body sloshing into the cold water that drained out around him.  Still the drug washed around his mind, and he could barely lift his body from the water, seeing the lightning flashing overhead.  One Mississippi... and Magnus’ staggering shadow was cast across him from the skylight.  Two Mississippi...

And as he slipped back under, he didn’t feel Magnus lift him out of the bath and into his arms, taking pity on him before he drowned in the bath, and carry him to the bedroom, dumping him callously on the end of the bed before crawling onto the mattress himself, conquered by exhaustion from the night’s affair and curling in on himself in his wet clothes, sure his paranoid insomnia would wake him before Seth.  With nothing to gain from each other now, there was nothing to do but recoup and sneak out before the dawn light.


	8. No Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter specific cw for rape jokes (magnus) and rape phobia themes (seth)  
> edit 22.08.17 to emphasise consent.

Seth slept heavily.  Magnus had not exaggerated in his spiel, and the drug set into his mind like anchors, dragging his body against the mattress and holding him deep below the surface even as the storm raged and died outside.  Magnus, too, had crashed hard, unconscious on the other side of the bed.  But though his body lay still, Seth’s mind was disquieted.

A dream: Seth was backstage in a theatre, a real one, y'know, not just an arena.  The air cool and still around him, bare brick walls where bands had signed off on the wooden beams.  As he walked down the dark passage, through hanging ropes and broken lighting rigs gathering dust, he could hear two voices, a woman’s and - and, well.  Pickles’.

They sounded far away, echoing off the high ceilings and beamwork, but as Seth grew closer he could tell they were on the stage.  Seth approached, emerging into the light and a wall of huge, bright blue sheer curtains hung down the back of the stage in gossamer layers that shimmered with every step he took.  Hanging in front of them were stars cut out from bright gold paper, the whole diorama looking like the background of a children’s book.

Apart from one white light at the back of the theatre, the stage was unlit.  That one light was an eye to Seth; it fell upon the huge white grand piano that took up one side of the stage and silhouetted the two, Pickles and the woman, who were sat on top of it with their feet hanging over the side, speaking softly to one another.  The woman’s blonde hair was lit up in periphery, and Seth saw she was shockingly beautiful.  Taller than Pickles.  And she did look familiar to him - but Seth had never managed to catch a woman _that_ stunning, not even at the height of his game.

Pickles, too, was not the little gremlin Seth had been reunited with but rather the candy-apple bright rockstar he’d seen on TV, perched petite and holding the woman’s hands.  Seth could not make out what they were saying, just that they seemed in love, and that cut him to the bone - that Pickles could win that, _love_ , from such a divine creature.

Seth rubbed his bare shoulders self-consciously, feeling exposed under the one white stage light.  He was aware of wearing one of the sleeveless tees of his misspent youth, and of the pipe burns on his fingers.  When he looked down, he saw the black stage rubber was scattered with glitter in the shape of more tiny stars, sparkling peach red and gold with each step he took.

Suddenly the woman looked up at him.  Her eyes were a piercing, angel blue, like the Wisconsin sky.  Seth stood still, staring back at her.

 _Seth!  You’re late!_ she called out, her voice chiming out, and Seth gulped.  Beside her, Pickles held close to her, his face pressed to her beautiful soft hair, her hands clasped in his own, and watched Seth out of the corner of his eye, reluctant - as usual - to make any eye contact at all.

 _You didn’t fuckin’, tell me it was on,_ he called back, holding himself against the cold and the sick feeling he was getting, like he was holding his head underwater.  The woman laughed at him.

_Silly!  You knew where it was!_

Seth looked at his feet.  He guessed he did.   _Yeah,_ he said, dizzied by the gold stars over the black rubber underfoot, _But, y'didn’t fuckin’, y'know… invite me or nothin’, darlin’… babe._

Only now did Pickles speak, raising his head but still not looking at Seth.  His hair was lit up like the red mane of a Chinese dog mask against the empty theatre seats.   _Cuz_ _I didn’t want you to come, ya douchebag.  You fuckin’ knew that, jeez._

His cruel whine loud over the still stage.  Seth prickled, glaring under his brow at the couple.

 _Fuck, Pickles, can’t you fuckin’, make up your fuckin’ mind, y'know what I’m sayin’?  Fuck!  Do ya wanna be the bad guy or the good guy?! Huh?!_ It felt like he was spitting with rage, but neither of the other two were moved at all.  Just stared at him with their big eyes like marbles, bright coloured glass.

 _Yeah, well.  Life ain’t no cowboys n’ Indians, y'know, Seth,_ said Pickles, but instead of the sneer Seth had been expecting, he spoke demurely, averting his eyes and holding his woman close.  It made Seth nauseous, for no reason he understood.

 _Piece of shit!  You get all the fuckin’ breaks n’ you don’t even, fuckin’, invite me, you’re such a fuckin’–_ he spat, and lunged towards the couple with a faux threat, but neither flinched - _It ain’t fair!  I hate your stupid, fat fuckin’, face!_

But Pickles looked at him and he wasn’t fat, his cheekbones cutting, resembling Seth like a mirror.  But he was fat, and bald, and idiot, all at the same time.  Fuck, it fucked up his head!

And stupid, fat skinny, teenage, plastic Pickles sneered through his teeth, _Life ain’t fair, Sethy._

Turning on his sneaker heel with a squeal, Seth launched himself at the curtains in rage, snatching fistfuls of the soft blue fabric and winding them around his hands like fog as he hauled on them.  Pickles and the woman watched him curiously, and in the awnings of the stage the curtain loops popped off of the rails with a bright snapping sound, the fabric splitting and tearing beneath his weight as his feet lifted off the ground and then dropped back down with a long rip of the blue fabric.  

Glancing back to see that Pickles was unmoved, just hiding his face in his partner’s hair, Seth grunted and snorted in rage and reached for one of the hanging gold stars, pulling it in its hanging chain down with the cardboard cutting into his fingers before the fishwire snapped and the whole line of them dropped down at his feet, glistening there like big round coins.

Seth tore the one in his hand in half, and Pickles just laughed at him from where he cuddled his girl, shy, on top of the piano.   _Take all you want, Seth, don’t mean shit to me_ , he cooed, and Seth gave a shrill, ugly grunt at him and wrapped another row of stars around his palm to pull them down with a ping of snapping nylon.  They fell over his shoulder, the blue fabric drifting down over him in waves, and out of the corner of his eye Seth saw Pickles grab his girl by the necklace she wore, pulling on it as he slid off the top of the piano.

Seth flailed at the blue silk, the cardboard points of the stars digging into his skin.   _Don’t you fuckin’, hurt her, faggot,_ he screeched, and dragged on the curtains again, pulling them down with his weight, _Don’t you lay a fuckin’ finger on her!  A bitch like that,_ y _ou don’t even fuckin’, deserve a bitch that fuckin’ class, Pickles!_

And _Back off!_ snapped Pickles, clutching the woman’s arm now that he’d pulled her to her feet.   _Back the FUCK off.  C’mon, babe._

 _You’re trash!  You’re fuckin’ trash, you fuckin’ cunt-ass junkie!_ Seth hung from the curtain, on his toes as he dug his fingers into the soft fabric.   _Loser!  Bitch!  You didn’t earn shit!_ As the tears stung and his throat threatened to tear with his screams, so the fabric gave way under Seth’s weight, just as Pickles tugged the woman offstage in a tight grip.  Blue and stars folding down over him, a heavy heat of nylon.

And then there was Pickles, sixteen, sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark in his jeans and sneakers and over his t-shirt, a collared shirt with the color and sheen of sardines, his red hair around his face, and the stars were holes punched in the wall (covered in rockstars, cut out and stuck to the wallpaper to Molly’s horror but tentative encouragement, as once she had been interested in rockstars as well) with the light shining through, and they were almost like flowers, and not real, not a real memory.  And he looked sleepy, and Seth was standing in his doorway, aged fourteen, in clothes their mother had bought him.

 _Cool,_ Pickles said slowly, as Pickles was drunk, as Pickles was always drunk, _Thanks, bro.  I will._

As Seth had told him if he was going to go to LA, then he had to kick ass there or it’d eat him alive.  He hadn’t known at the time that the guy was serious.

Seth awoke with a nauseating jolt, clutching the sheets, his tired eyes squinting into the dark room as he lay, shivering, on his side.  Although he could not focus his drug addled mind, he witnessed what had woken him anyway: Magnus was moving, his weight shifting the double mattress beneath him as he pulled his long body up, silhouetted against the faint light of the dawn through the bedroom curtains.  He sluggishly pulled at his wet clothes, kneeling on the covers to drag his shirt from his shoulders and then rolling back to pull off his boots and peel his sodden jeans from his legs, then curl into the covers, pull them over his naked body.  Seth couldn't anchor on anything he saw, but could smell the other man's bare skin, and lay dead possum still until he stopped moving again and Seth, too, was dropped back into sleep.

He dreamed again, this time of his cell in the Oneida County Jail.  It had been a single cell and an uncharacteristically short sentence for a violent offender, doubtless the doing of a certain multinational corporation with fingers in corruption pies the globe over and in this case with Seth's interests at heart.  Therefore his sentence had been brief, comfortable, and for the most part free of conflict beyond a few friends he'd made in the mess hall and the yard.

In his first few weeks, though, he had been disturbed nightly with dreamed terrors of rape and human trafficking, mostly just a hand on the back of his head and his chest pushed down to the mattress, and even months into his recovery back in Tomahawk he was still awoken by scattered nightmares and a hard dick that drove him into scalding hot showers feeling sick and looking at himself hard in the mirror, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.  Why keep dreaming it?  And now, and now...

In this dream, he was stretched out on his prison cot in his orange trousers, the shirt abandoned to the floor.  It was night, he should have been alone, but he wasn't.  The air was warm with body heat and the smell of bare male skin, and Seth's fingers wrung into thick greasy brown curls where Magnus, likewise dressed in oranges and laid by his side on the narrow cot, his knees by Seth's head, sucked his hard dick.

Fuck, and it was vivid.  Seth felt his chest tight, the words constricted in his throat as he hissed filthy shit like _yeah, suck it, you bitch-ass faggot_ , knowing they might be heard but unable to keep it to himself as he exerted his dominance in spat whispers and gasps and by tearing at heavy handfuls of the other man's curly hair, Magnus betraying a gulp or his lips pulled gently back up with Seth's cruel yank.

In the warm darkness, Seth felt stuck to the thin mattress like its springs would curl into his back and trap him there, anchored in his flesh.  His finger toyed with, pulled on Magnus' ear found amongst his curls, ran down to grasp the nape of his neck, held him to take it deeper in his throat.  His other hand strayed over his bare chest, rubbing himself - his lean muscles, as they’d been then, as there had been fuck all to do in the yard except work out - and then he turned his head to where Magnus' hips were propped sideways on the bed, his knees almost touching Seth's head.

He had seen the loose orange fabric tented, and licked his lips as he put out a hand to brush the taut lines, when movement in the bed in the real, stupid, gay ass world pulled him to the surface - this time only briefly, close to warm skin and being shoved away by a broad hand.

"Uh-uh.  No.  Off," rumbled from beside him, and then, "You even awake there?" but as soon as the hand withdrew, Seth, heavily drugged, merely dropped his head back against the warm side he had unconsciously nestled against.

He was pushed again for barely a second, and then, "Whatever," grumbled Magnus, and a heavy arm was slung over Seth's shoulders as he was taken by the drug again.

In the dark cell, Seth let the warm head of Magnus’ swollen dick rubbing against his tongue break the radiating cold around them, his arms wrapped around the other man’s thighs and the bars of the cell cast in long shadows over them.  The heat and weight of it, the taste of his precum, was vivid and all-consuming against the memory of his lonely cell before the whole thing bolted and shifted, and he was on his back again, his throat tight, his numb fingers running over the standing nubs of his nipples as he could feel Magnus’ long fingers slick and cold press against, breach and slide into his asshole, and Seth was clutching for the cool sheets beneath him, his shoulders rolled at the daunting, sinking, stretched feeling.

For the most part he’d suffocated it within himself at the time.  Now, in his sleep, Seth relived it in detail, his hand clutched around his imagined dick and pulled in time with the strokes.  More real, more fucked up than any of his abstract dreams of prison violation in the past, and content believing this time that Magnus was his fucking bitch.  And even though he had fingers up his ass, with the hot mouth pressed in sloppy kisses against his balls and grazing his fingers on his cock, Seth still felt – yeah – in control – dominant – _spoilt._

But then it turned again, with a hypnogogic lurch, and Seth had his face crushed into the cold mattress, pushed down on his belly with his hips barely lifted and facing the dark wall, the cast shadows of the bars, and Magnus’ towering silhouette as he held Seth down and fucked his ass.  And even though it felt exactly the same as his fingers and, y’know, _good_ , for the first time in one of his fucked up dreams, as soon as he zeroed in on Magnus’ big hand screwed in his hair, a blind panic descended over Seth that manifested, in his dream, as the guy forcing his face down into the mattress (that smelt of dust, mouldy foam).

He was suffocating, smothered like that, smothered and trapped and fucked up the ass.  The last thing he felt was Magnus curling his fingernails into his shoulder, drawing them down his back like he was slicing the skin open along their paths, a splitting, brilliant pain, until he reached the round of Seth’s buttock and pulled them back, and the pain burned bloody and open down his entire body as though he’d been unzipped, and his tears wet on his cheeks and dampening the mattress where he whimpered and trembled.  And then he woke up.

There was a rough thumb being drawn over his temple, a stroke repeated as he awoke, his face pressed against warm skin that rose and fell as Seth curled up tight against the terror that settled in his gut.  Magnus’ long hand moved to cradle his jaw, gentle this time, his thumb stroked against Seth’s cheek where the skin was still stained and stiff with tears.  When he spoke, Seth could feel it all through his chest.  “Hey.  Havin’ a bad dream there?”

Just rumbled, a scratch to his voice, oblivious to the way Seth froze up, seeing somehow his dream had leaked into waking but too heavy with the drug to fight it.  Even his hand was draped across Magnus’ chest, Seth’s fingers brushing his chest hair as he withdrew it quickly.  He remembered in a shutter his previous waking, Magnus’ undressing in the dawn – now brighter, but still early, filtered grey – and felt the warm, hairy flesh all down his body.  His heart strangled and tightened, his face cold where Magnus moved his hand across it fondly.

Magnus was propped up against the pillows of the bed, stacked behind his back, and holding Seth’s phone in his other hand.  He sat up more noticing Seth had moved, only to smile down at him, long and cracked and streaked with blood, the lump on his jaw swollen and mottled.  “Good morning, sunshine,” he said softly, sing-song, and Seth widened his eyes, tensed, and then instantly shot to the other side of the bed as if a firework had gone off at his feet.

Magnus was left holding air and falling blankets, and looked up after Seth as he perched at the side of the bed, his eyes wide in terror.  Slowly, Magnus lowered his arm – made no attempt at pursuit, which to Seth just turned his stomach further, for, knelt as he was and checking his body for new marks, he was certain that he had already been violated.  The only consolation was that Magnus wasn’t pinning him down for another round or - - or, fuck, to keep him prisoner or something, fuck!  Or, fuck!  Maybe he was just so confident he didn’t have to give chase!  At that thought, an ugly sound wormed out of Seth’s throat – the first that morning, scratchy and thick with sleep – and he raised a shaking finger to point at Magnus, and then fell off the bed.

“Okay?” came Magnus’ voice, and Seth struggled to pull himself off the floor, his head heavy and tugging him down as he assembled his aching body again.  His first thought went to shoes, but he was already wearing them.  He wouldn’t make the same mistake again, and this time saw Magnus’ clothes and scrambled across the carpet to them on his stomach like some kind of long bodied gila monster before patting them down for any weapon.  But Seth’s luck had changed overnight, and Magnus had left a switchblade in his jeans, his eyes lighting up as it sprung from its handle deadly in his hand – which throbbed from its cut – and like it, so Seth sprang to his feet, swaying from one foot to the other with the drug as he held the blade out, shaking, at his enemy.

Magnus looked up from the phone screen, having not moved an inch, and winced at him, then looked back at the screen again.  “If you’re gonna rape me,” Magnus said, blasé, “At least use the lube.  Y’know, it’s right there and all.” He gestured at the side table where the little bottle had been abandoned next to Seth’s fake glasses, and Seth stared at him.

His silence was enough to catch Magnus’ attention again; he looked up, pursed his lips, shifted slightly under the covers.  “No?  Gonna kill me then?  Go to town.  I’m defenceless.”  Again, back to the phone, as if it was somehow more interesting than his imminent murder.  “I’m sure your brother will clean it up for you.  Hell, he’ll be glad to hear I’m dead.  Give you a raise or whatever, I mean, fuck me!  Go ahead.”

A feral hiss escaped through Seth’s teeth, and formed itself into the spat words: “ _Fuck_ my brother!” as he lunged threateningly for Magnus, but lost his balance and fell forward, catching himself with an arm out on the bed.  And Magnus was laughing.  But Seth couldn’t tell if it had started before or after he’d fallen.

“Yeah, buddy.  Yeah,” chuckled Magnus, scrolling through the phone with his thumb, and Seth felt like he was going to vomit.

“What’d you _do?_  Fuckin’... teabag me or some shit, you fuckin’, huh, you fuckin’, sicko?” he slurred, and Magnus shook his head, still chuckling softly in his chest.

“In your dreams, princess.  I didn’t lay a finger on you.”  Finally he lowered the phone, looking across the bed at Seth and sweeping his hair out of his face with a broad hand and a clumsy smile spared at the other man.  “Dude.  For real.  I just put you on the bed, you wiggled over later, like a lil’… mouse baby or some shit, guess you got cold.  Don’t freak out; it’s just the Seroquel, it fucks with your memory.  I ain’t interested in fucking... corpses.  Or fucking corpses, for that matter.”

They stood locked in each other’s stare for a solid few seconds.  Seth did not fully believe him, but now that he did a tally, he was still dressed the same as when he’d left the bedroom in the first place – down to sneakers and socks, briefs on, shirt and all.  His ass didn’t _feel_ any worse either, just weird and tingly like the chemicals he’d accidentally injected up there, and that was after the fingering and everything.  He did, however, have a boner, a disconcerting fact he’d only just realised.  Had he... in fact...

Seth paused, bent over and holding the knife out, and realised that it must have been a dream.   Because this wasn’t the fucking jail.  Jesus fuck, what an _idiot_ he was.  Still it made no sense to him that Magnus would not take advantage of him, almost as little sense as Magnus picking the phone up again now, his eyes scanning the screen.  “Don’t fucking stare at me,” he muttered, navigating through the open webpages casually, “I’m ugly in the morning.”

Seth swallowed back a mouthful of saliva that had gathered as he swayed in place.  “Huh.  I got some bad fuckin’ news for ya,” he sneered, and then pointed at the phone with the knife.  “How’d you... fuckin’, do that?  Y’know.  Fuck.”

“Huh?” Magnus lowered the dethfone, and where it rested on his chest Seth could see the screen and instantly recognised the familiar black and blue background of a popular porn site.  “Oh, I just... y’know, put your password in and, there you go.  Heh.  I mean, temperamental little devices, ain’t they...”

This was too much for Seth to think about, and he slumped onto his elbows on the edge of the bed, his knees on the floor.  “Figured since I was waiting for you to wake up anyway, I’d take advantage of Dethklok’s mobile data to catch the news, do a little recon...” continued Magnus, and Seth frowned up at him.

“And watchin’ motherfuckin’, XTube.”

Magnus looked surprised, turning up the screen as if he hadn’t even noticed.  “Well, yeah, that too.  I got bored,” he explained with a shrug, and then gave a tight smile.  “Your search history is... _something_ , man, dang.  And you’re on _my_ case for doggy porn...”

“What the fuck,” groaned Seth, his face crushed into the covers, and he slowly dragged himself onto the mattress, unable to hold himself up any longer.  His balance was shot from the drug, his body sore and distant from him.  Magnus regarded him a moment as he lay there, watched him over the top of the phone, and then smiled gently at him.

“Are you goin’ back to sleep?” Magnus asked, and Seth moved in a way that vaguely suggested a shrug where he was curled on his side at the end of the bed.  “That’s cool, man, you can rape and murder me later.  I’ll hang ‘round for ya.”

Seth let out a shuddering breath, staring across the covers at Magnus.  How did he get so fucking confident?  Seth knew he could do some damage if he had to, surely Magnus could see that too.  But there the guy lay, browsing porn and just fucking ignoring him like he was nothing – worse than a dog!  It made Seth’s skin crawl with rage.

“If you fuckin’ touch me, faggot… even a god damn hair,” he slurred, curled in on himself with his hard cock uncomfortable against his briefs and the knife nursed in his palm, “I’ll throw open your closet doors so fuckin’ wide, and so fuckin’ fast, they’ll hear the bang in motherfuckin’ Korea.”

Magnus looked down his body at Seth’s predatory sneer and quirked a little smile at him.  “I know,” he said, “Why d’you think I ain’t already chucked you in a ditch somewhere, a lil’ squirt like you?  I coulda sworn we already went over this, Seth; I got more cards in my deck than to try that shit.”

When Seth just lay there considering the power Magnus had just granted him, his eyes up at the man like a puzzled dog and his body twitching, Magnus quickly grew bored of staring him down and turned back to the phone, licked his lips, and slid his free hand under the covers.  Seth felt the motion more than he saw it, but his eyes popped open in alarm and, “You ain’t gonna…” he gasped, his heart still in his chest.

“Ain’t gonna what?” asked Magnus, and Seth baulked at him.

“Y’ain’t gonna fuckin’, fuckin’ _jerk it_ while I’m fuckin’ right here!  What the fuck, dude!”

Magnus gave him a low look, and apparently dropped his hand from his dick beneath the covers by the movement beneath.  “Well, you ain’t rushing to help me out, are you, honey?” he cooed mockingly, and then stretched his body where he lay.  “You got me all worked up with that amyl and shit.  If you’re gonna go to sleep I don’t see why I shouldn’t spend this morning like I spend every damn morning – and to be honest, I’m pretty chuffed just to have both my hands back in action, y’know?  So just go to sleep and ignore it, it ain’t hurting you.”

Seth stared at him.  “Go take a fuckin’ shower then!” he squeaked eventually, and Magnus looked away from him.

“Can’t watch this shit in the shower.”

“Oh, fuckin’, what the fuck!”  Seth covered his face with his hand, screwing his fingers over the sweaty, tear stained skin.

“Like you’re a fucking saint!  I only had to search your name and all the scum rises to the top.” As Seth watched, Magnus navigated away from the porn site to other open windows in the browser.  “Look at this shit.   _Brother of Dethklok Millionaire Arrested on Drug Charges_ – ”

“Dude, for real.  Everyone does that shit,” muttered Seth, and Magnus eyeballed him with his dark eye and gestured to the screen with an open palm.

“You hit a woman with a brick!”

“So fucking what!  Bitch was stashin’ my fuckin’ money!” squawked Seth, his eyes widening where he lay on his side, the tension sending his sore muscles snapping with pain.  “How would _you_ deal with a bitch makin’ off with your fuckin’, hard earned cash man!  You add it up, a hundie here, two hundie there, you notice you’re short - you gotta sort that shit out, man.  Get a bitch in check.”

Magnus scrolled through the article with his thumb, reading it aloud to Seth even as the guy protested.  “ _Witnesses at the trial attested that the Tomahawk man was overheard yelling at police officers, ‘Don’t interrupt me while I’m whooping on my bitch, fucking – ‘_ And the next word is fucking, unprintable.  She has brain damage, man.  Jesus fucking Christ.”

He cast a watchful look down at Seth, appreciating him anew.  “Were you _hustling_ , Seth?” he asked, and even though Seth knew he was being criticised, he could see Magnus’ one eye sizing him up – checking him out, an unpleasant shiver down his body with the path of his gaze.  He curled his lip in response, not sure if he was truly being judged – or elevated in Magnus’ mind.

“Yo, _as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death_ , y’know what I mean, bro?  Whatever.  I’m, uhhh.... got my life on track, now, y’know...”

“Mm hmm.”  Magnus was looking down the bed at him, a weird shadow of a smile on his face.  “Would you hit your wife with a brick?”

“No!”  Seth looked at him aghast.  “Amber, she - she’s my fuckin’ angel, what the fuck!”

“Yeah but, I mean, what’s the difference?”  Magnus went back to the phone, flicking away the windows with his fingertips.  For a man with a phone easily from 2001, he handled the high-tech dethfone with surprising grace.

“My wife ain’t a fuckin’ whore!” snapped Seth, and reached out to snag a pillow and ditch it at Magnus, missing – hitting the man’s side instead, the pillow falling harmlessly to the mattress – and then giving a whinge as his arm twanged with pain.

“Okay, okay.  True, I don’t know shit about your woman.  Hmm.”  Magnus stroked his beard with his free hand, combing it out with his fingers.  “Would you hit your brother with a brick?” he asked, glancing down at Seth, waiting for his expression with a hungry look.  Seth wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he knew that look – knew he was talking about something.

“What are you sayin’?” he asked, uncertain, and Magnus looked away from him again.

“I wonder.”

Seth could not be fucked arguing the point any longer.  He gave a dismissive snort and hauled himself up the bed, his head drooping with exhaustion, and then collapsed next to Magnus, grabbing the pillow he’d ditched at the guy to bring close to his chest.  Magnus chuckled softly beside him.  Whatever, they’d reached a truce, and though whacking off next to a guy was gay as fuck, it wasn’t as if Seth was the one doing the whacking.

Seth was used to shifting allegiances, and regarding Magnus now - placid, harmless, even sleepy, laid beside him and giving his attention only to the miracle of the unlocked phone - his gut feeling was that he was being protected, or at least guarded from any force that would take him away from Magnus.  He recalled a time in Mitch's father's house, as teenagers, when they'd all dropped acid and he'd been lying on the floor with the old man's massive Doberman, watching the dog as it relaxed there, panted its hot, meaty breath in his face.  And Seth had realised, as one does on acid, that the dog was a predator.  Looking at his bone-crushing chops, his muscles, the block of his head, his forward-facing eyes, and knowing that if the dog wanted to, he could have killed Seth at any moment.  But he didn't want to.  He just didn't care.

"Sleepy?" said Magnus, glancing his way, and then hummed to himself.  "Then go to sleep.  I ain't going anywhere."  And Seth watched him, struggling to keep his drooping eyes open.  Yes, it was exactly the same.  Magnus, a dangerous creature, could kill him any moment he wanted to. The idea that Seth could have gotten one up on him physically, could have forced him to do anything by sheer body strength alone, was totally comical.  But he didn't want to.  He just lay there, his goatee against his chest, and scrolled through porn videos.

Seth let his eyes close for the briefest flutter, but quickly twitched them open again as he felt Magnus' hand on his own.  But it was nothing suspicious, just the other man gazing solemnly at him as he maneuvered the knife out of Seth's fingers and, once successful, placed it on the bedside table.  A reasonable action Seth himself would have taken, if Seth was Magnus and he was beside a bitch armed like that.

Magnus saw Seth looking at him, and said again, “Go to sleep, Seth.  It’s okay,” but Seth just curled into the pillow, pressing it against his chest and crotch and twisting his fingers into its cover.

“Can’t sleep.  Hurts too much,” he mumbled, and Magnus gave a soft snort.

“Huff the amyl.  You’re already fucked up on Susie, you’ll go under in seconds,” he said, sitting back in the bed, and Seth considered that this was a quite good idea, actually.  Magnus was a big picture man.  He squirmed enough to get the bottle out of his crumpled sock, but lost it immediately over the covers, his hands too shaky to keep hold of it.  Magnus looked down at him, smiled, and leaned over to fish it up and unscrew the top.

“Here.  Ah – ” he pulled the bottle back as Seth reached for it, the phone abandoned on his chest so he could push Seth’s hands away.  When Seth gave in, Magnus smiled again and held the bottle under his nose, the heavy camphor smell choking into his head like a punch to the kisser, and the whole experience – being _fed_ it, and Magnus holding his hands still and following the jerk of his head back so that he was huffing much more than he would have on his own – fucking strange, unlike anything Seth had tolerated in the past.

“That’s it,” purred Magnus and released him, capping the bottle again and placing it aside with the knife, lube and glasses.  With the heat flooding his body again, Seth closed his eyes and huffed quietly, then opened them again to the colours drenched.  That shit really was so intense, he could barely see straight and instead just let his body fall limp, gazing at Magnus through his closing eyes, blinking heavy under the flush as he cuddled the pillow close to him.

Not that... he wanted to watch Magnus jerk off or anything.  Man, that was weird.  In fact, as he lay there by Magnus’ shoulder and watched him select a video, a dim view of the lit screen from where he lay close to the head of the bed, a distinctly weird pins and needles flooded over Seth’s body with the heat.  Upset by it, he closed his eyes properly and tried to block it out, but now his senses rushed in to stop him.  He could feel Magnus moving beneath the covers, albeit only slightly, taking his time rather than treating the action with any utility.  A lazy Saturday morning then, plenty of time to kill.

Seth hated it, he hated the way the pricking spread over his thighs like static then raced up his sides and over his shoulders, pooling in a dull, dumb, drugged feeling in the back of his brain.  He hated being so aware of his body, and so aware of Magnus' movements, aware of him shifting his shoulders on the pillow and his arm withdrawn from the covers again and laid over them to brush Seth's hair with his long fingers in an absent, fond way.  So not touching himself at all now, only Seth, and with the shiver intensifying and flooding where Magnus touched him, Seth screwed his eyes shut.

Seth wanted to snap at him, _hurry the fuck up_ , or he wanted to dissolve into the fucking air.  As he willed Magnus to just jerk off and cum and be done with it, his head was filled forcefully with the memory of the night before, of what that looked like, and smelt like, and tasted like, and his dick was hard and inundated with heat, and fuck it, Seth knew exactly what this was.  He'd always known, and he'd lied and it felt terrible, a gut-deep feeling like someone was pouring gutter slush into the cavity of his chest, the grey water leaking around his heart and his liver and filling the spaces around his intestines, cooling and fetid against the pumping warmth of the amyl.

He just didn't understand why it had to be so fucking intense.  When he wanted to fuck a woman it didn't feel like this, it just felt good, you know?  Like hot blooded and powerful and like a fun game, like a prank even, a maze with a reward at the end.  Magnus was no maze, no power, no fun (although some kind of game remained); he was a reward granted with no effort, forced even, and a grief and fear equally shoved into Seth like a knife.

All his life he'd pushed it as far out of his brain as he could, as if it had compacted there over a hundred misc pornos and women with cocks in chatrooms and fights with other men, in high school, in bars, in prison.  Now the night's events had pushed it too far and it sprang out at him at once, busting the dams he'd so carefully assembled to a barrage of smell and taste and image as he curled up there and tried not to feel his erection, or the pinching of his asshole.  Images from his dream.  Images from the night before.  From kissing and lips and Magnus' long hair draped against his skin, from his tight embrace that somehow sought both to protect and control Seth.  From being picked up and pinned down and knives and pricks and stupid lullabies that made his blood run cold.

Seth's eyes popped open.  He wanted to _fuck_ Magnus.  Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

Hold on.  That wasn't quite right.  Just the thought of Magnus' hairy ass disgusted Seth, his eyes rolled sideways to the man’s hairy chest, smattered with bruises, inches from his face.  He didn't want to fuck Magnus, he wanted to _fuck with_ Magnus, wanted his dick blown and his ass fingered and maybe be held down and, uh, maybe some kissing and... sucked all over and _spoilt_.  That was what he wanted.

Magnus wasn't looking at him, he was watching the porn instead, playing with Seth's hair idly.  Jesus _fucking_ Christ, realised Seth, what an ugly motherfucker.  What the fuck _was_ this urge.

Since it didn't feel at all like it felt when he wanted to fuck a woman, Seth concluded that he still wasn't gay.  Magnus had just done something to him, conditioned him somehow.  But, he realised, his eyes darting across Magnus' face and exposed chest as he considered it and squeezed the life out of the pillow in his arms, if he _did_ want to fuck Magnus, then there was no way Magnus could go telling on him, was there...

The video that Magnus was watching showed two men, supposedly Mormons by the video title, and _ugh, gay_ , was Seth's first instinct, and then he bit back the thought at the cut of guilt, of his own hypocrisy.  It wasn't _gay..._ just men fucking around.  Not the same thing.  Because God was sometimes merciful, he had left the sound muted, just watching it placidly and stroking Seth's hair.  Using up all his data, the motherfucker, and for what?  Two kids with big dicks, or, well - they were younger than Magnus, anyway, probably around Seth's age realistically; the actors in porn were always either a lot older or a lot younger than you thought at first glance.

Seth rolled his eyes up to watch the video – lying so low beside Magnus, nearly in the hook of his arm, he could see everything on the tiny screen.  One man had smooth, white skin turned nearly cream by the poor quality of the video, and nipple piercings - not very Mormon of him - and the other man, maybe slightly younger than him, had darker skin and was taller by a few inches, his hair cropped short with his partner's hand spread over the back of his scalp as he sucked cock on a single bed.

As Seth watched, the men broke apart, kissed, and then swapped over, and there was an intimacy there that made him feel weird, a sensuality absent from the kind of videos he pursued.  Seth was not sure that sex like that could really happen outside of a movie, and definitely not gay sex, but the men moved slowly and adoringly and with their eyes locked on each other and not on the camera, and they were very, very good at sucking dick.

Seth's hand crawled down to his crotch as he watched secretly, wedged between his body and the pillow he cradled.  Magnus' soft voice came suddenly, murmuring, "You like that, huh?" and Seth jumped in shock, a full-body twitch, feeling the man's lazy, uncaring gaze on him instead of the screen now.  The long fingers moved through his hair and Seth pulled his hand away from his crotch, his muscles stiff and mechanical.  He did not reply, and Magnus just chuckled at him, stroking his head as Seth cowered away from him.

"It's okay," he said, and then looked down at Seth again, smiling and hooking his arm around Seth's shoulders to cuddle him close, bring him against his chest.  "It's okay.  I can share, I mean... it's your data, I guess."  Magnus gave an amused huff, his arm around Seth raised to touch the screen again.  "Whaddaya wanna watch?  You've still got this one bookmarked here, uh, European Babes Hostel Shower Piss Party' -- "

"Fuck you," growled Seth, holding his pillow tight, and Magnus just laughed at him.

"No?  That's fine.  We'll just watch mine," he said, and unpaused the video, content to let Seth lie against his chest and watch along with him.  And Seth did hate it, the way Magnus' fingers trailed on his swollen throat, the smell of his stale sweat and bare skin, but it was happening so... whatever.  With the threat of murder removed, with a truce, as it were, maybe he could angle for another good blowjob, or... you know...

The video knew.

"What does it mean?  If I wanna do that," rasped Seth, and pointed to the screen where one of the men now had his face buried in the other's buttocks.  It was shot from the other man's front, so just cock, no detail, but Seth was still getting twisted up by it.

Magnus was still and quiet for a moment, watching, and then said, "Nothing, buddy."  His fingers brushed through Seth's hair again, and left trails of the awful electric feeling where he moved.  Seth pulled back his hand, holding it close to his chest.

"You ever done that?" he asked, and Magnus watched the video coolly.

"Yes."

"Cuz you're a faggot," said Seth, and though Magnus was slow to reply, he spared a shallow breath out of contempt at the slur.

"Nah.  I just fuck men," he said slowly, and then went quiet, as though thinking about it deeply before he gave a sharp huff.  "Or.  Y'know, anyway."

When Seth just stared up at him with those big, dumb, pretty green eyes, Magnus looked down at him and explained, "I haven't been doing that... much of that.  For a while now.  Probably means something, I dunno if it's worth giving too much thought -- "

"You _don't_ fuck men?" said Seth accusingly, trying to understand, and Magnus snorted at him.

"I fucked you, you're a man.  That’s gotta be good enough for ya, right?  I meant - eh.  Forget it."

But Seth had clued on, and pulled a sneer that flared his delicate nostrils in an ugly, vicious way like a snarling terrier.  "What, no chicks will fuckin’, go with you since you ripped your fuckin' arteries out your fuckin' wrist like a pussy ass fuckin', emo faggot?" he jeered, and Magnus looked down at him, bemused.

"What?"

"Your fuckin'..." Seth reached over Magnus' chest to grab at the wrist of the hand that held the phone, rubbing his thumb cruelly up the knotted scars that tangled like rope up Magnus' wrist.  He quickly jerked his hand out of Seth's grasp, shooting a murderous glare down at him with his hand tensing on the younger man's throat, but dropped it as easily as it had come and frowned at him instead as Seth continued, "Fuckin'... y'know, offed yourself, fuckin', motherfuckin', July, right?  Your bitch told me."

After another second, Magnus' expression softened and then dropped through to a scoffing laugh.  "This?" he asked, pointing with the hand over Seth's shoulder at the scar on his left wrist, " _This?_  This is like, fucking... '98, man, this is fucking _old news_.  Jesus fucking Christ, if I got no pussy between '98 and now, I think I'd fucking just... waste away and die!"

Seth tried to work out how long ago that was, but all that came to mind was Magnus flicking through the photos the night before: _Album, ’98.  But it woulda been... ’95?  ’96?_ He didn't know what that meant.

Magnus fixed him with his one good eye, the other creamy and bloodshot and drifting.  "July, I ran a cold bath, and then I plugged in my, ah, Orange... Tiny Terror amp head - it's a little..." - he mimed the size of a lunch box - "... for distortion and volume and... yeah, shit... and then I got into the bath, and I dropped the Terror in.  And," Magnus gestured broadly, as though dismissing the memory, "There was a zap and a bang and all my lights went out and then I was sitting in a cold bath... drunk.  In the dark.  And the Terror was fucking _dead_ , man..."

Magnus shook his head, disappointed in himself and his wider fate, his hair bouncing in thick ringlets over his shoulders.  "So I got out and walked to ER cuz, uh... y'know.  Thought they could do something about it.  But it was a Friday night so every fucker and his wife were stabbing each other or having heart attacks or whatever, and I just sat there for four hours, and then I walked home.  And I got, uh... my hours reduced at work, went to the psychiatrist, got put on Seroquel again so."

He lay back into the pillow at this, regarding Seth, still drugged up to his eyeballs and looking at him, shocked by the reality of a suicide attempt beyond all his jokes.  "But I haven't been taking it.  It's a fucked drug, man.  Real fucked."

"Fuckin', tell me about it," squeaked Seth, and they shared a tender moment of real, genuine connection before Seth said, "You ever eat ass, though?"

Magnus regarded him dispassionately, his heavy brow raising just a touch.  "Is that what this was all about?" he asked, dimly amused, and Seth stared straight forward for a moment, asking himself the same question internally, and then looked back up at Magnus, having grown bored of staring at the man's right nipple.

"Uh, I think so.  Yeah.  Only, you didn't say -- "

“Man.”  Magnus huffed softly, shifted in the covers as he thought about it, and then pulled a broad-shouldered shrug.  “I mean, I’m open to it, but – ”

“Oh, _shit._ ” Seth hadn’t expected to get this far.

“ _But_ you can’t sit on my face, one, cuz you hit me with a golf club back there and I think my fucking jaw bone is bruised, okay.”  Magnus looked him in the eye, and Seth shrugged, gave a little smile at the memory.

“Yeah, that was pretty fuckin’... yeah, fuckin’ awesome.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a strong swing there, you should think about goin’ pro.  Point is, don’t fuck my face up any more or I’ll kill you, for real this time.  I’ve had enough of that shit for one lifetime.  Two -- ”

Magnus held up two of his fingers around the phone, and Seth rolled his eyes up to look at them, echoing him: “Two?”

“Two, I really ain’t diggin’ this pillow princess shit you’ve got going on here.  It should be, y’know... an eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth, give-and-take kinda deal...”  Magnus’ hand dropped to rest against Seth’s cheek, his fingers curled into a loose fist as he turned to look at him.  That bruise really was something, swollen a deep plum on his jawbone, the blood from his mouth crusted in his beard.  “I mean, if you want me to do something for you, Seth, then I’m gonna want you to do something for me, too...”

Seth stared into Magnus’ mismatched eyes, his breath still inside him, and swallowed heavily.  He was sure Magnus was angling towards his ass again, but Seth had fucked enough reluctant chicks in his time to pick up a few tricks.  For instance: Magnus had obviously loved fucking his throat, really got carried away in it – if Seth could goad him into that, then he could distract him at least until he came and then he wouldn’t care about fucking his ass instead.  Follow the chain down, and if he was really talented he could probably distract him with just a handjob.  Seth spent every day of his life jerking off.  He had to be pretty good at it by now, right?

Wordlessly, Seth sat up from Magnus’ side, his arm trembling under his weight as he pushed himself up.  The room spun and lurched as he brought his head up, his guts a guilty tight knot of rubber, and Magnus watched him with barely even a blink of surprise as he half shifted, half fell towards his middle, plunging his hands beneath the covers and pushed across Magnus’ warm skin.  Seth’s head hung heavy as he slid them under, his hair falling over his face, though he could hardly bear to look at Magnus’ cock in the morning light.  And for his part, Magnus just gave a satisfied sigh, squirmed to make himself more comfortable, and settled in to enjoy the show.

Seth stopped when his fingertips touched the thicker brush of Magnus’ crotch, but he gave a short huff and sunk his fingers through it, blind beneath the covers and tentative until Magnus’ hand joined him, pushing his fingers to the warm, velour soft skin of his cock and balls.  Seth curled the fingers of one hand into Magnus’ thigh as the others were drawn up his dick, half-cocked, guided to wrap around it by Magnus’ hand, and Seth’s head was blood-heavy, his breath in his chest as he followed the silent order.

He spared a glance back at Magnus as he stroked it, uncertain of the technique without a foreskin to work with, but Magnus wasn’t even looking at him – his head was tilted back on the pillow, his shoulders low, his pushing hand urging Seth on while the other uselessly holding up the dethfone.  Though Seth’s breath was loud in his head, his body tightened to hear Magnus’ heavy breathing as well as he stretched his body out around him then lay still, looking at the porno on the phone screen again.  And then all Seth could hear was his own hand movements on the thick cock stiffening in his palm, and the sound of birds singing outside, the pretty, mundane thing drenching it all in an otherworldly, washed out, detached air that prickled across Seth’s bare shoulders and ribs in stark contrast to the heat in his head, in his palm.

Clearly just jerking the guy off wasn’t keeping his attention, and Seth _needed_ his attention – if he was going to get what he wanted out of him, anyway.  With a woozy stab of grief that punched upwards through his sternum, Seth ducked down a way – stopped – gulped – pushed back his hair from his face – and then bowed the rest of the way, pulling the blanket aside and wincing to avoid looking at the thing as he put his mouth over it.  Futile, he still saw it, how ugly and big and inviting it looked all at once, how the end was rose pink down to the dark scar, like – fuck.  Seth didn’t even know.  Like a dog dick or something.

As he slid it down his tongue, Seth heard Magnus give a long, feminine moan and his searching hand brushed tenderly against Seth’s face.  Good, that was a fucking start, and when Seth darted another look up he saw Magnus lifting the amyl bottle up with his fingers with the phone on his chest, holding it over his face a moment later to huff its fumes deep.  His dick gave a throb against Seth’s tongue as he leaned on his arm and tried pathetically to suck it like the guys in the video, a battle of will and the realisation that this was nowhere near as easy as girls made it look, his other hand trailing experimentally over Magnus’ balls - which were large and lower hanging than Seth’s, too easy to pull on, though from the hand on the back of his head after the amyl was replaced suggested this was not unwelcome.

Magnus' dick struck as significantly smaller when it wasn’t being forced down Seth's throat from above, but it was still harder to swallow than it had been the night before.  With his head swimming, Seth struggled to focus on anything, like the taste, that upset him previously; instead, he noticed how heavy it lay in his mouth, how warm, how it broadened towards the last third then narrowed again at the tip - fucked up, he thought, how dicks were like plungers, how, in the gangbang porn Seth was so fond of, he'd seen them suck the cum back out of a chick like with the suction they formed alone and the scoop of the head, like a gush when they pulled it out.

Seth's cock wasn't particularly spectacular, an even thing with a graceful curve (he thought quite attractive, had long concluded that while not big, it certainly was _nice_ ), and he was daunted by how different Magnus' was when you got down to brass tacks.  If you chose to look at it like that.  He guessed, rubbing his numb lips over the swell and trying and failing not to drool down it, the warm saliva tracing a line over his thumb where he held the hilt of Magnus' dick, that if he had a cunt he'd be pretty chuffed to have that in there.

Or, well, y'know - no.  Stick _that_ thought way down in the box of things never to think about, holy crap!  Seth pulled his lips up the end, trying to ignore the slurp, and buffed the thing with his fist.  As he swallowed back his saliva, his head hanging heavy, he noticed that Magnus was watching him again from around the phone as though curious to his next move.

As Seth wiped the drool off his mouth, Magnus spoke, his voice curled with a smile, "Swallow it, Seth."  Seth glared at him, his bruised throat throbbing at the suggestion, but Magnus just smirked on at him, victoriously, confidently, "You can do it, go on.  You did before."

Seth stabbed his chin at Magnus arrogantly, but there was nothing like a challenge to push him into action.  With just a beat, regarding Magnus' stiff dick again with his fingers wrapped around it, Seth ducked again, flat tongue first, to slide it down his gullet.  He could feel that swell push open his throat as he held his breath and battled, inch by inch, to choke it down, much harder without Magnus pushing - but by the four inch mark, the man's hand had come down on the back of his head and the hips rose beneath him to push it further, and his cute button nose was jammed roughly into the curly, strong smelling pubes.

As Seth felt them on the fat of his bottom lip as well, he realised he'd done it, strangling as Magnus held his head in place with his throat beating raw around the thick cock intruding there.  He gave a muffled squeak as Magnus held him still, too long, his head swimming until his vision blurred with hot red.  His bottom teeth edged on the hilt in desperation as a hot tear ran down his cheek again, and that was what it took for Magnus to release him, his tense lips pulled up the length of it with a rush of panicked relief and slobbering as he leaned on his hand and panted for air.  God.  His throat felt eviscerated...

Magnus' urging hand pressed against the back of his head again, but this time Seth struck it away blindly, his eyes stinging with tears and wiping the snot and spit from his face with the back of his other hand.  "Quit it!" he snapped, "Fuck!" and Magnus chuckled at him, bringing back his hand to stroke Seth's thigh instead.

"Okay, okay.  Sorry.  It's just cute," he purred, smiling sweetly at Seth down his body, rising and falling with his heavy breath, "That's all.  Look at you.  Look at your pink lips, aw..."  Magnus' roaming hand hooked in the side of Seth's mouth as he panted, only for Seth to push him off again.

"The fuck, dude!"

But Magnus was just laughing at him.  When Seth looked up again from wiping the tears off his face, Magnus had leaned back over his head and snagged the amyl again, holding it out to Seth.  He didn't have to explain - Seth snatched it from his hand and unscrewed it quickly, holding his other hand around the top to force all the fumes into his flaring nostrils.  As the head rush surged through him, Magnus plucked the bottle out of his hands again, stealing a quick snort for himself before he capped it and placed it aside again.

By the time the broad, gentle hand was pushing on the back of Seth's head again, he was so enamoured with the feeling of that warm palm on the nape of his neck that he didn't even resist going down again.  He wanted, craved skin on skin, the cock's heavy weight on his tongue as he sloppily sucked it, and Magnus' hand sliding down his neck and shoulder, his ribs, pressing against his bruises with his fingers to dull, distant pain and then sliding his hand into Seth's briefs where he sat, his deft, long fingers caressing his stiff dick and balls to a muffled moan from Seth.

"Fuck," gurgled Seth, squinting against the heat in his head as he pulled back, just his wet lip resting against the swollen pink cock end.  He couldn’t focus on sucking it with Magnus’ hand stroking firm over his dick, and as  he swooned, his saliva stringing from his lips, Magnus abruptly placed the phone aside like a thought had occurred to him and sat up, towering over Seth with his long body and folding his arms around his shoulders, his head rocked gently against Seth’s scalp as he breathed in Seth’s hair and cradled his jaw in a slender hand.

Magnus drew a deep breath, and then turned Seth’s face up to his own and took him into a messy, forceful kiss, staggering the other man as he tried to catch his balance against Magnus’ scrawny chest.  Seth choked on the tongue pushed straight into his mouth and the crook of Magnus’ hand hooked under his jaw, but collected himself enough to kiss back, his thoughts scattered between didn’t his mouth taste like dick and how this would be much easier if Magnus wasn’t such an _affectionate_ person you know, such a smothering, _kissy_ person.  But fuck, it felt good, wet lips and stubble and the sharp taste of old blood, as much as the other hand trailing back down his chest and hooking his briefs, dragging them down until Seth was forced to move and let Magnus pull them off his scrawny white legs and ditch his sneakers aside.

Seth’s hands faltered in touching Magnus’ body – it made sense to him to get him off, but express some sort of intimacy towards the guy?  God _no._  But the drugs made it feel so good, grabbing clumsily at his chest and hips, so fucking _huge_ against him, overshadowing him, as Magnus’ curls fell over his neck and his breath panted hot against his ear.  Magnus’ voice sounded husky in his ear, murmuring, “Turn over, Seth,” even as he dug his nails into Seth’s buttocks, lifting him.  Seth drew back, overwhelmed, trying to get a view on Magnus’ face to read his expression, but he was only smiling that cat in the cream hooked smirk he had and pushing forward to kiss Seth’s face, his cheeks and lips, one hand snared into his thigh and  the other raised, open palmed, until he brought it down on Seth’s ass with a sharp slap.

Seth gaped at him as the handprint burned on his pale skin, but Magnus just grinned predatorily  at him and made to get around behind him on the mattress on hands and knees.  “Over!” he barked and Seth scrambled to do as he said, throwing himself face down at the pillow Magnus had been lying on before.  As soon as his arms wrapped around it, Magnus caught his hips and pulled him backwards against his own pelvis, jamming the second pillow underneath them, and then stretched over him to reach for the side table.  Seth followed his hand with his eyes, seeing his fingers touch the top of the bottle of lube, stop, and then take hold of the amyl instead.  He delicately moved it over to Seth, holding it in front of his face until Seth snatched it from his hand – “Is this what you wanted – yeah.  Thought so...” – and then went back for the lube.

Seth flinched, his arms crossed over the pillow as he unscrewed the cap again.  He could feel Magnus’ dick against his ass cheek and – sunk into the soft pillow, as if he was melting into it – would have just about resigned himself to a solid ass fucking, but Magnus, for all of his flaws, was a man of his word or at least parallel to it and soon the meat was replaced by a lingering kiss that narrowed into a nip.  The fall and drape of Magnus’ dank curls against the back of Seth’s thighs ran a shiver through him almost as bad as his huge hands groping at his buttocks when it pulled away, strong fingers kneading the soft flesh and nearly scratching with the longer nails of his plucking hand.

Seth downed another stab of grief with a sniff from the amyl bottle as he accidentally empathised with Magnus, considered the other man sizing up his asshole, but Magnus’ laugh and another playful slap to his ass dispelled it just as well.  “Not much ass on you, huh, bud?” he declared, and Seth huffed into the pillow unhappily.

“Just fuckin’ eat it, douchebag,” he snarled, and heard Magnus giggling behind him, the sound weird and through his teeth as he gathered saliva in his mouth.  Seth tensed anxiously as the guy then pried apart his buttocks, couldn’t place the sound that came next – Magnus rolling his mouthful of spit around his tongue – but damn well placed the lukewarm saliva that he let flood over his lip and drool onto Seth’s asshole, flinching all over as it pooled and dribbled down his taint and the back of his balls, the trail cooling in the morning air.  “Holy fuckin’ -- _shit_ ,” he squeaked through his teeth, and then swallowed his tongue as Magnus set in.

Seth curled his fingers into the pillow, gritting his teeth.  It was not what he’d imagined, though he was not sure what he had imagined – maybe something like a blowjob, full and heavy and swooning.  But it was unlike any experience he’d had, weird and warm and cool and wet and firm and ticklish and too much and not enough all at fucking once.  If he _had_ to compare it, he’d liken it to a kiss, open-mouthed, which was _fucked_ to think about but not inaccurate in anatomy nor technique, at least in Magnus’ case, a man with a fucking oral _fixation_ from his readiness to stick his tongue anywhere that’d take it.

To this end Magnus curled his nails into Seth’s buttocks, and raised his head enough to speak down his dipped back, his thick beard brushing against Seth’s taint when he spoke: “Fucking relax, man.  It’ll be more fun!”  And Seth stuck the burning bottle under his nose and closed his eyes, his brow knotting as he tried to work out which muscle down there actually was relaxing, you know?  He must have figured it out, because Magnus jammed his firm tongue in a second later, and _that_ , man, that drove the sigh and shudder out of Seth’s throat.   _That_ was fucking _somethin’_.

He felt _spoilt_.  He felt _in control_.  Like Magnus was his fuckin’ _slut_ , man... at least until the guy raised his head again and snapped, bemused, “Why the fuck does your ass taste like Pantene?”

Seth covered his head with his hands, screwing up his face in frustration.  “What the fuck do you fuckin’ care, dude?” he squeaked, “What the fuck do you want it to be, a fuckin’ field of motherfuckin’, strawberries?”

“Or, y’know, ass,” said Magnus, leaning forward on Seth’s buttocks, “Ass just tastes like ass.  You think I would be fucking... down here if I didn’t expect a fucking mouthful of _ass?_  It ain’t that bad, buddy!”

“Fuckin’... _shut up,_ ” hissed Seth and buried his flushed face in the pillow.  It smelt like Magnus’ hair, embarrassing how comforting that suddenly was as he clutched it.  He’d never admit it.

Behind him, Magnus smacked his buttock again and jeered, “Maybe she’s born with it.  Maybe she put fuckin’ conditioner up her ass.”  Seth thought he heard something about _motherfucking straight boys_ too as Magnus uncapped the lube and the cold touch of his finger circled on Seth’s asshole, but he had already resumed his kissing and licking and now gently probing before Seth could get a word in.

Seth had settled into the rhythm of Magnus’ thick fingers, even a moan or two escaping him as he pressed his face into the amyl bottle and the heat surged up in him, when with no warning at all Magnus’ long, naked body lay out over him, his hand still hooked in Seth’s ass as he embraced the other man with his other arm and tried to weave into his mouth for another kiss.  Seth realised what was happening just in time to push the guy’s meaty head out of the way, recoiling back with difficulty under Magnus’ great weight.

“Myeh, no!  What the fuck!  No!  You just had your tongue up my motherfuckin’ ass, I ain’t fuckin’ kissin’ ya!” he protested shrilly, and Magnus gave a sympathetic moan before trying again – and getting Seth’s hand straight in his face in reward.  Magnus kept pushing.

“Pussy,” he grunted around Seth’s hand, and gave one final thrust with his hand before he pushed himself up, clambering off of Seth and staggering off the bed.  Seth turned to watch him lurch over to the chest of drawers, studying him over his arm as he could barely lift his head, too sunk into the mattress to be fucked moving as Magnus raided his stash for something, only raising his head to snarl back at Seth: “Where the fuck is my weed?!”

“In the bathroom, dude...”groaned Seth, and Magnus gave an angry grunt before he dragged his unsteady, aching body into the bathroom.  Seth heard the tap running, the sound of pill bottles tipped and their contents swallowed back with a handful of water, then Magnus swish and gargle another mouthful for good measure.  He looked at himself in the broken mirror, groaned at what he saw, and then came back with the weed tin, returning it to the pencil case stash.  When he turned around again it was to flick one of the condom packets at Seth’s white body stretched out on the mattress before him, the cold foil hitting the small of his back and bouncing off onto the covers.  Seth looked back at it, and heaved a pathetic groan.

“Eye for an eye,” declared Magnus as he climbed back up beside him, and held out a pill bottle to Seth, rattling it by his face, “Tooth for a tooth.  Xanax?”  Seth glared at him over his arm and then snatched the bottle, unscrewing it hastily to dry swallow two of the pills.  If he was going to go down, then he was going down in _style_.  As he bolted them back, struggling with his stiff, bruised throat, Magnus kissed his shoulders softly, adoringly, and laid his weight across him.

“Don’t worry.  It’s easy,” he lied, and Seth buried his face in his arms, sulking to himself.  When Magnus hummed at him, looking for a response, and nuzzled his ear, he snapped back: “Whatever, fuck!  Sure, fuckin’, fine!  I don’t give a shit!”  He’d meant to sound pissed, but instead flushed brightly as Magnus drew up again, grinning over him and delicately running his nails up Seth’s back.  Seth recalled the dream and shuddered where he was touched, the guilt and grief rising heavy in him as he stuck his nose over the mouth of the amyl bottle again.  Anything to fucking forget it.  But, he supposed - if his fingers felt good, if his tongue felt good, and if, with the drug, sucking it felt good, then it had to be worth a try.  He'd always held that he'd try anything once and make the most of the short life he'd have, but then that was mostly talking about drugs and not dicks.  He could do worse than with no chance of word getting out, with someone experienced, and with a whole bottle of fucking lube.

Magnus had snagged the condom packet and opened it with his teeth.  It was beyond Seth how anyone could look smug while putting on a condom.  He couldn’t fucking remember the last time he’d used one of those, and it indicated to Seth’s addled mind that Magnus was negative and afraid of catching something off Seth.  Foolishly.  What was the point of being a virgin if you had to use a fucking rubber?!  He wanted it all, every dumb sensation in it, and watched him over his shoulder curiously. But then Magnus’ hand came down beside his arm, holding his weight forward and sinking the mattress, and the lubed tip of his dick pressed hard against his asshole, and Seth went blind with panic.

He couldn’t think anything, couldn’t tell shit that was going on except for the shallow intrusion and the smell of Magnus’ hair on the pillow he pushed his face into.  Hated it, hated the fear that opened on him like a mouth and swallowed him up from below, like turning inside out with it, and wished it would just happen so the fear would go away and he could get used to it.  That was how Seth dealt with everything, threw himself in headfirst and eventually you caught your balance again.  But this time it wasn't going away, like an endless heart attack and he didn't even know why.  And then Magnus was laughing, the pressure removed, a broad hand patting his ass lightly and then the one by his shoulder moved to spread his cheeks instead.  “Relax, buddy!” jeered Magnus, “Come on,” and he tried again, but this time couldn’t even get the tip in before he sat back on his haunches, giggling at Seth.

“Buddy!   You were doing fine just then, come on.”  His thumb rubbed firm over the pucker of Seth’s asshole, but when the guy didn’t move or reply, paused with both his hands resting on his thighs gently.  “Buddy?  Seth?”

“Oh,” he said finally when Seth didn’t respond, and leaned across him to turn his head aside, a big palm ran through the man’s hair.  This only recalled worse aspects of his dream and Seth flinched with his whole body, Magnus clucking softly with amusement to see the tears on his face as he lay his body down beside him.

“Seth,” he said again, as though calling him, “Sethy.  It’s okay.  Come on, pal, it’s okay.”  Magnus pushed on his shoulder to turn him onto his side, opening his front to Magnus, and smirked that hooked smile before he ducked in to kiss his wet cheek softly.  “We’ll just hang tight and let the xannies work their magic, okay?  Okay?”

As soon as he’d turned Seth over, the crushing panic started to lift and Seth was blinking back his tears, still speechless but improving.  He glared resentfully through his stinging eyes, too aware of Magnus laughing at him, cooing, “Aw, Seth.  You fucking pussy, Jesus Christ,” and then nuzzling his face, trying to kiss him though Seth jerked his mouth out of the way.  He was not going to apologise and he was not going to kiss assmouth.  Instead, Magnus kissed his jaw and swollen throat, gentle with the foul stewing purples that had blossomed over his skin.

He could feel the slick, lubed skin of the condom rub over his thigh as Magnus moved against him, chest to chest, and then Magnus’ hand was curled around his soft dick again, feeling him gently.  Seth wound his fingers into Magnus’ hair as he kissed his sore neck, and then brought his head back in his hands, looking Magnus in the eyes.  “I ain’t no fuckin’ _pussy_ ,” he spat, and Magnus just chuckled at him.  "You're a fuckin' pussy!  Y'know, just fuckin' do it!  Stick it in, or - fuck, whatever."

But Magnus only laughed at him and stroked his hair.

Seth squinted his eyes closed, rolling his forehead against Magnus’.  It was all too much, the encroaching heady fuzz of the Xanax, the rush of the popper, the panic, the ache, the Seroquel, and most full on of everything, being so easily held and moved around by another man, the smell and heat of him, the birdsong outside, and no fear.  No attempt to humiliate or dominate him, or murder him – not on this side of it, with nothing to gain.  So when Magnus murmured to him, “Are you high?”, he nodded and barely resisted as the guy turned him onto his back and lay on top of him again, between his spread legs, his cock resting against Seth’s.

“Yeh, get it,” breathed Seth, and Magnus smiled and pushed his legs up higher by the calves.  Then higher, his face tilted with curiosity.  Then further again, beyond Magnus’ shoulders, until Seth’s knees touched the mattress, and Magnus stared down at him.

“Huh,” he said, and pushed Seth’s legs straight until his socks were by his head, and Seth breathed shallowly and looked up into his face unsteadily.  Magnus’ hands rubbed up and down his legs, the skin numb and tingling where his palms passed, and he regarded Seth, impressed.  “A lot of shit just started to make sense to me.  That’s some fucking talent you got there, bud,” he said, and then smiled, looking Seth in the eyes, “I bet you could suck your own dick.  That’s fucking _dope_.”

“Yeah,” said Seth woozily, smiling up at him, and Magnus let his ankles rest against his bony shoulders as he squared up against him again, and then – as Seth’s heart bolted and the pressure returned against his ass – clutched Seth by the jaw, holding his face in a vice grip so that it was turned up to him.

“This time,” Magnus breathed down at him through a strained smile as Seth swallowed his panic and fought to sink into the cocktail of sedatives that floated in his head, and, “I wanna see your face,” said Magnus, and his body lurched as Seth succeeded, his skinny fingers digging at Magnus’ arm in choking confusion as Magnus shoved his broad dick into his lubed ass.  Magnus was pleased by what he saw, by Seth’s screwed up, puzzled flinch and nasal honk of surprise, and the rest of the member proved easy to slide in after the initial breach.  And jesus _fucking_ christ, it was _fucking massive_ compared to the guy’s fingers, and jesus _fucking_ christ, it felt strange as hell, with Magnus letting his legs drop around his hips and bending over Seth on his elbows, his thick curls falling around his face as he gazed into Seth’s eyes and rolled his hips against him.

“Fuck,” squeaked Seth, unable to look away from him, and Magnus paused long enough to find the amyl bottle on the bed, opening it between them and  taking a long huff himself before he pressed it into Seth’s sweaty palm.  Seth wasn’t stupid, he cupped his hands around his nose with the bottle and immediately drew the fumes in with as heavy pants as he could manage.  And just as well – Magnus’ bucking rut hit him right before the head rush did, and he didn’t even think about it really, just felt fucking overwhelmed at being fucked, and the sound of flesh on flesh and the whole body jolt, and it felt like Magnus was fucking his guilt up into his throat where he could gas it with the amyl’s burning camphor.

The only thing he thought, Magnus grabbing his face when he’d lowered the amyl for a moment, cradling it close to his chest like his own heart as Magnus pushed another slow and sloppy kiss on him, was: is this what Amber felt like every time?

And even that he didn’t linger on.

It felt stupid and good, getting pounded, a full body thing, and Seth clutched at Magnus’ shoulder and ribs and hips before clumsily fishing for his own dick between them, which was plump but neglected.  He sneered down his own body as he tried to jerk it in time, difficult with the force that Magnus fucked him with, and Magnus swooned above him, dripping sweat onto his pale skin from his chest and flushed neck and forehead.  “Ain’t gonna last long,” he gasped, and Seth struggled to blink both his eyes at the same time, Magnus slurring over him as he saw it, “God, you’re _beautiful_.”

Which was the only time in Seth’s entire life he’d been called something like that, by someone who _meant_ it.  It just happened to come while he was being fucked up the ass by a guy who’d tried to kill him hours before.  That was too hard to think about it.  Whatever, it made him want to fucking cum, and, “Ffff- _uck_ , get it!” he barked as he grabbed a handful of Magnus’ curls, anchoring him against the man’s brutal fuck.

Magnus was more concerned about himself.  He pushed the hair out of Seth’s eyes with his hand, cradling his sweaty face and turning it up to meet his gaze again.  “You gotta look me in the eyes or else I can’t cum,” he breathed all in one, and Seth made a weird face but obeyed.  And it was just a couple of savage, bucking thrusts until he swore, “Oh, fuck,” and swooned, then “Oh, _fuck!_ ” again, and snatched the open amyl bottle from Seth, jamming it against his face as he thrust hard into him.

Seth, crushed under Magnus’ weight and unable to move his hand on his own cock, could feel Magnus’ dick pump and throb against the tight ring of his anus and the shudder run through the guy’s body as he came.  He gasped for breath next to Seth’s head, hazarding a final thrust or two with a long, pathetic moan, and then slowly pushed himself up to look down at Seth again, his hair stuck across his sweaty brow and a lopsided smile on his face.  “That was nice,” he sighed, running the sharp fingernail of his right index finger down Seth’s belly with a slicing tingle, and Seth eyeballed him from the mattress, his dick standing straighter between them now the barrage was over.

“Shut the fuck up,” he squeaked, and rolled his head against the mattress as he rubbed his dick again, his lip curling as he got himself off.  Magnus took a moment to judge where he was at, smirked, and then caught his ankles, pushing them back to Seth’s shoulders again.  The position was uncomfortable, especially with Magnus refusing to dismount, and he jeered down at Seth as the guy fought to push over the edge.

“Do it,” jeered Magnus, grinning down at him with bright, eager eyes, “Get it on your fucking face.”  Seth rolled his eyes at him, his head spinning under the drugs and looming plateau, and Magnus pushed him further, up on his own knees as he tried to keep the angle.  “Come on, do it.  Do it.   _Cum._  It’ll be fucking, hilarious, _fuck!”_

Then Magnus had turned his face to Seth’s ankle, stripping off his sock and kissing his bare foot, and Seth wondered what the fuck was wrong with him but _fuck_ it did feel _good_ , and by the time Seth gave a strangled moan and his brain eclipsed with orgasm, Magnus holding his leg down and sucking the curled toes of his other foot, he didn’t even care that it squirted right at his own face, splattering warm across his cheek, neck and sweat glazed chest.

Magnus was laughing hysterically, covering his face to compose himself but losing it again as soon as he looked at Seth again, lying dizzily under him covered in his own cum and sweat.  With great care, he managed to pull his cock out of Seth, sitting back on his knees on the mattress with Seth’s legs spread eagle on his thighs, and shook with smothered giggles as he pulled back the condom and squeezed the last of the semen remaining in his dick into it, and then looked at Seth – pathetic, exhausted and drugged – beamed a broad, proud smile at him, and poured out the condom onto his belly, drooling lukewarm in a thick stripe up Seth’s skin.  He looked at it, then looked at Magnus, tossing aside the empty condom and grinning wickedly at him, and then looked at the stripe again, dropped his head back and moaned, “Fuck.”

Magnus had moved to the edge of the bed, his weight sinking the mattress, and sat there naked for a second to gather himself – his silver hairs lit up golden white in the sunlight through the blinds – before he stood and staggered to the drawers, raiding his stash tin for the chop and papers he deftly rolled together.  

Seth lowered his legs and stretched out as he lay in the damp patch of the bed, listening to the birds outside, willing away the ache as he recovered his breath, experimentally touched his fingers to the coagulating slime on his chest. He examined himself with a flinch, plucking the long black curly hairs from his own short auburn pubes in disgust and wonder, then lay back to watch Magnus poke the spliff into his lips and light it with the cigarette lighter from the bathroom floor, not a word from him, gathering Seth’s clothes as he went and then standing over him to  drop them in a pile on top of him.

It was as if a cloud had come down over him, obscuring his better features and blocking Seth from the intimacy they’d had before. “Your sweater is in the lounge.  Get dressed and then get the fuck out of my life,” he snarled around the spliff, and then snatched the amyl bottle out of Seth’s hand.  “This is mine.  You know what’s yours; if you take any of my shit, I’ll kill you.”

The threat, though forceful, rung empty.  Seth squirmed on the bed, gesturing helplessly to the cum that covered him, and said, “Buh – ” but Magnus wasn’t having any of it.

“Dressed, now.   _Now._ ”  He clapped at Seth to hurry him, and then turned away to dress himself, retrieving fresh clothes from an overnight bag he pulled out from under the bed.  The stink of skunk settled down over Seth as he struggled to sit up, groping over the sheets for his dethfone.  When Magnus looked back at him, clothed now in his briefs and socks, he fetched the phone from the covers and held it up for Seth to see.

“You want this?  Why?”  But he passed it to Seth anyway when he reached for it.

“Taxi,” breathed Seth, and Magnus snorted at him and turned away.

“Don’t bother.  I changed your password.  I’ll call you a cab later.”

The phone was suddenly so heavy in his hand, like it was made of lead, weighing down his thin wrist – like it was sucking down through his chest, a cold stab, and Magnus must have clued on to his haunted silence because he spoke, quietly, barely even looking over his shoulder as he turned a clean cotton shirt the right way out on his hands.  “You let your guard down, didn’t you?  Don’t be so surprised.”

Seth held his head in his hand, the drugs gathering thick behind his eyes.  “Who in the _fuck_ are you?” he whispered through his teeth, and Magnus scoffed to himself.

“I am someone who knows more than you do, Seth,” he said, and put his hand with the spliff through the sleeve hole of the shirt before he pulled it over his head.  “And someone who had no desire to think of Dethklok.  Now get dressed and get out.  Don’t take anything.  No drugs.  No _fucking_ photos.”

With the spliff in his mouth, Magnus made the sign of the cross at Seth, and then slowly pointed to him with two crooked fingers.  “Avaunt, be gone.  Thou hast set me on the rack.”

Seth sat up, the slime oozing down his front, and mopped at it irritably with his discarded underwear before pulling them on again.  “Cool, a don't-call-me, I'll-call-you kinda deal?  You, fuckin’, schizo maniac,” he sneered, hastening to dress himself with a vile glaze of grime clinging to him, “Are you always this fuckin’ pissy after you cum or do you just like me fuckin' special, huh?  And as if I fuckin’ want fuckin’, pics of my brother bangin’ that fuckin’, Neanderthal, huh!  Fuckin’ _disgustin’.”_

"No, don't fucking call me --"  But suddenly Magnus was looking at him again, his face turned so that his good eye could catch Seth around his left shoulder.  “What?” he asked, curling his lip, and then it hit him like a bolt from the blue.  “Wait.  You – think those photos were of Nathan?”

His smoke curled up through the sunlight as Seth struggled into his tight jeans, stopping to look Magnus in the eye like _duh_.  Magnus returned the look with disbelief.  “You just had that dick in your face for most of the night and morning, and you’re still telling me you didn’t recognise it?” he asked, and Seth blinked back at him.

“What?”

“Nathan’s dick is _way_ bigger, y’know what.  You can have that for free.”

Seth stared helplessly at Magnus, sat stupid in the middle of the bed half dressed in his rubbish emo clothes.  “What?” he squeaked again, and Magnus gestured emptily to him in frustration.

“I fucked your brother, Seth!”

“ _What?_ ”

“I fucked your brother!”  Magnus drew on the spliff irately, staring at the blinds lit up with the morning light, and then lied, “Kind’ve a... incidental thing, y’know?  You know... whatever.  Just get out.”

So, nearly frothing with disgust, Seth decided to, and let Magnus call him a taxi.

And that would have been the end, had Magnus not had one last thing to say.  When Seth’s first step onto the floor nearly dropped him straight onto the carpet, Magnus – fully dressed by then – had caught him with a quick hand and hauled him up.  Seth hung off his arm until Magnus gave in and pulled him against his body, holding him there for a moment before his expression changed.  And, “I am sorry, you know,” he said softly, bowing his head to press his face against Seth’s hair.

And then he was pushed out the door and into the taxi, nearly dragged into the hotel by the klokateers, and blacked out until Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an epilogue to go.  
> thank you walkwithursus for helping me edit this one!


	9. Epilogue (Voila)

It was three days later.  Seth was pretty sure he hadn’t been conscious for most of them, flight included, and that was the sign of a good holiday.  Now he was sat on his couch in shorts and a t-shirt with the TV and a beer and a little cushion under his bruised ass, and a heat pack pressed to his aching neck, and everything was going to be fine.

Upon arriving home, Seth had done three things.  Number one was check his bank account, which had successfully bloated to the tune of a few million.  Now he’d slowly pay back the manager rather than rat himself out with one big transfer, though he did notice another transaction on his account – a transfer to an account under a foreign name he didn’t recognise, but marked “I4NI-2f4A2f” which he didn’t think particularly clever, but since it was only a few thousand (enough, say, to replace a plasma television and pay for carpet cleaning) he wasn’t too bothered by it.

The second thing he did was take a fucking shower.  He had gotten home absolutely reeking of god fucking knew what – though of course he knew _exactly_ what – and pushed Amber aside to make his way straight to the bathroom.  Once the scum and sweat was washed off his body, Seth could start to inspect the damage he was left with, disturbed by the cuts and handprints, the bruises up the inside of his thighs.  He’d been so high he hadn’t comprehended just how rough he was being treated, and now relearned the error of his ways every time he sat down. 

Seth didn’t like to think about it much, and it appeared that his gory bruises put Amber in an affectionate mood, clucking at him and providing him with heat packs and beers or kissing his cheeks, and so it couldn’t be all bad and the third thing he did was kiss her and hold her close, home in Australia and amongst safe people once again.  He did not tell her what had happened, though he gathered she had some idea.  Now she was sitting opposite him on the couch, glued to her phone as usual – perhaps with even more intensity than usual, typing frantically with her thumbs.  The baby was asleep in their room.  Domestic bliss, aight?

But just as Seth was thinking this, his bliss was shattered by Amber laughing.  This wasn’t _unblissful_ in and of itself; Seth loved his wife, whatever misaimed pit of his soul that feeling might have originated from.  He still loved her.  But this laugh was barking and hysterical, and she tried to cover her face for a second and smother it, looking up at him with her laughing eyes, laughing so hard she was going to cry with it, couldn’t breathe with it.  Seth stared back at her, tilted his beer and said, “What?”

And Amber lost it again at his face, snorting through her mirth.  Now Amber didn’t say much, even though she was more than capable of doing so – a kind of selective muteness.  When Seth had pressed her on it once, well into their marriage, she’d finally said, _Nothing to say._   And that was the only thing she’d said that night, perfectly enunciated, perfectly knowing.

Now, she looked him in the eyes, her mouth jeering as she slowly formed the words: “Your friend, is very funny.”  And she turned the phone around to him, showing her messages under a contact called simply _Friend_ _:^)_ , and tapped a video that had been sent through to her, the preview image leaping up to fill the screen.

Seth’s eyes widened in horror at what he saw, his wife giggling into her hand at his expression.  And unlike Magnus, Amber did not keep her phone on mute.

 _Swallow it, Seth,_ came tinny from the tiny phone speakers as Seth turned beet red in the face of all its awfulness, _You can do it, come on._

That god damn _son of a bitch.......!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos, support and comments along the way; this was a pleasure to write, so thanks for sticking around!


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